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The sea was like glass.

It was so still, so smooth, so calm that she felt as if time itself had stopped. The idea was like a weight lifting from her shoulders.


Time was the one thing that was distinctly lacking in her life. There was never enough time. Not even enough time for a good night’s sleep. She couldn’t remember when she’d last sat down to watch television, or to read a book. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had as much as five minutes to herself.

Until now, of course.

Now she stood on the shore, looking at the still, glass sea. Time had frozen. She no longer had to worry about deadlines, alarms, schedules. Time had frozen and she could finally breathe.

She stepped out onto the glassy sea. It held; it was like standing on a glass coffee table. She laughed – of course it held. Time was frozen. She walked out further, looking down to see the seaweed underneath, frozen still.

She wondered how long it had been since she last laughed. Too long to remember.

Then the glass broke. Time swept back in, and swept her away on the tide.

© Kari Fay