01 Mar 2022 22 min read vignette

The Consciousness of Tyme (I)

I type this on my old computer, for if I wrote upon paper the friction between my hand and the paper of a journal would cover it in sand. Thus it is with a spawn of the Hourglass as I. What is the Hourglass, you may ask? The same thing as I, I suppose: an experiment.

A mistake.

An error known as Nicolas Tyme. I type this as a warning to those who dare enter the human world. It is not a happy place. The human world is a decent place, sure, just darkened by the hearts of humankind. I type this journal to warn of the despairs of being even slightly different in a world of mad monsters and vicious wolves.

And the timbrewolves in the forests around my home are more polite than whom I refer to.

If you are willing to delve into the cold, unfeeling realms of the world you currently exist in do continue. If not, close the book and drop it on the nearest beach. One of my kind may choose to relieve you of it.

The Hourglass Experiment was simple, really.

Mix human molecules with those of sand, thus creating a creature of sand with a conscience. Not too hard; scientists of the day had found ways to add a human conscience to avian and horse brains before, why not objects like sand? Naturally it would be easier to add a conscience to something without one right?

Wrong.

The humans who were created as such often found mental problems combined with brutal strength and amazing abilities. The first ones who survived could only change their form. The second generation could extend their conscience into surrounding sand particles and the third – I dare not say the last – could do both. Each became immortal unless ever grain of sand they usually kept form with was obliterated, or if they let the conscience they held on dearly to slip away. The latter caused the sand-person to lose their form and slowly fade away, for what is a person without their personality? The Hourglass Experiment was shut down after the People’s Republic of Earth found out what the scientists were doing. Not wanting to kill their project (a selective few became attached to we sand-beings), the scientists sent off these transformed humans into societies, usually beach fronts and small cities not important enough to be labelled on a map. I was placed in the city of Avril, around 2015. It was forty years later I first faced trouble in that city, for it was then that she moved in. Charlotte Kalen, my age physically – twenty-seven – and quite wise. She was from noble birth as well, and it was because of her I began adapting to the city surrounding me. Now I will go back to that time as to reveal the events that caused me to believe that humans are of cruel and tortuous mind and heart.

Part One: Redefinition

I gazed outside my circular window, looking upon the grey sky as I often did on cloudy days as this. I dared not venture outside today; if I became the slightest damp, my form would crumble and I would be forced to endure the agony of awaiting the sun to dry me before I returned to my usual, dry self. What if a bit of me was washed away…? I could never bear it! Looking past the reflection of my violet eyes, I noticed a caravan driving through the town at the edge of my house and home. Moving trucks, I realized as they all ceased driving at a certain red house within twenty meters of the gate into my land. Men with large muscles strained to carry seemingly hundreds of boxes and chests and trunks until the silver moon peeked out behind the smooth maroon sky. The owner of the house and all of these things was nowhere to be found until the following day. I was peering out of my window again because a certain bird – a red-tailed hawk, I believe – was perched quite perfectly on a tree close by the top floor’s window, and I sought a closer look. As I examined the beautiful bird I realized that a turquoise car had pulled into the driveway of the red house from the previous day. Curiosity pulled my attention towards the creature that opened the car door and stepped out to remove the “For Sale” sign. I caught a glimpse of her bright, red hair and brilliant, white teeth from the smile she flashed, completely unaware that she was being watched. Her ivory skin fit her hair wonderfully. A breeze blew by, brushing her hair into her face. The woman looked straight at me and I saw her eyes.

I almost spilled out on the spot.

Her eyes had the chilliest blue hue I had ever seen in my many years of living. They tore into your soul; I felt that if she had been looking directly at me, with no glass to even slightly disperse the gaze, a hole would have appeared in my chest and I would have died. Her eyes revealed intelligence and wit, cunning and coldness. That, I believe, is what captured my heart. She turned away before I could tear my ogling away from her face, abruptly interrupting my reverie. The lady walked into her house, closing the grey door behind her. I decided to go out and cultivate my poplar treelings some more. It would undoubtedly be completely sunny today; the clouds from the previous day had drifted over the horizon, and the breeze was as dry as an ocean zephyr could get. I grew poplars because they are one of the few plants able to survive in the type of climate I lived in. This certain bunch of treelings was really an experiment to see if I could cross-pollinate a certain tree with another and what results I’d get. The sun was preparing to set when I heard a voice from beyond the gazebo in my front lawn.

“As the sun set, I see the sky bright

I know in my heart it is time for night

The moon rises above the sun,

And we know the day is done!” I walked over to my rotunda and sat down, enjoying the short lullaby.

“... we know in our hearts

The day will restart

But yearn for the sky torn

Telling us of open morn.

Dare we cry, dare we lie

Upon our heads, in our beds,

Do we walk, shall we dance?” This last word was more of a scream, and I realized she had seen me. I feared a dreadful silence and so began the conversation.

“Please don’t stop on my behalf. I found the tune quite pleasing, really, and would enjoy it if you continued.” I ran the short distance to her home and held out my hand in friendship. “Nicolas Tyme. You may call me of whichever part of my name as you choose as long as I may know yours.” It took her a moment to snap out of her shock and take my hand in hers.

“Charlotte Kalen. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Have you been there all the while? Listening, I mean.”

“If you don’t mind the intrusion. I had been simply attending to my poplars when I heard your lovely siren song.” Charlotte blushed at my devilish smirk.

“I would ask you in, but I just moved here yesterday and haven’t had proper time to put all of my belongings away.”

“’Tis fine. I’ve been in my garden all day and probably smell of it, anyway.” I watched Charlotte’s nostrils slightly flare.

“Actually, you smell of seawater. I do enjoy the ocean scents, which is why I moved here…” She stopped, as if catching herself before going too far.

“And to escape from someone or thing, perhaps?” Charlotte simply grinned.

“Perhaps.”, she replied, “How long have you been in this city, Tyme?”

“For forty years I’ve been here.” Charlotte stumbled back, obviously surprised.

“Impossible! You look twenty-six!” I laughed.

“If only you knew why, and if only I could tell you.”

“And why can’t you tell me?” I bowed my head as if embarrassed – and truthfully, I was.

“I prefer not to frighten new neighbours away a day after they have come.” Charlotte laughed again, resembling the magnificent euphony of an orchestra playing for the gods.

“I suppose that’s fair, considering I’ve not revealed why I moved to the city of Avril. How did it get its name, anyway?” Charlotte asked.

“The founder’s daughter was named Avril, and it was founded on his granddaughter’s birthday – April 1st. Also, this city was once the happiest city on Earth according to many magazines and reporters.”

“What happened?”

“I dunno. After a decade of being the merriest city, the polls stopped going round.” Charlotte giggled again. We were now watching the final tip of the sun’s nadir. Charlotte stifled a yawn.

“I guess I should return to Seulport.” I mumbled.

“Hmm?”

“Goodnight and a pleasure meeting you.”

“Oh… good rest, Nicolas!” Charlotte waved at me and I copied her gesture. As soon as I was sure that Charlotte was tucked in her home, I let my form disperse along the wind, keeping all of my conscious particles together, drifting until I found myself in my room. I closed my window and lay my head down in the bed I created. Really, it was just a giant chest of sand. I enjoyed the sand of the former Spanish beaches; it felt good for my eyes and made becoming soft as flesh so much easier. I closed the lid and let my form merge with the sand, falling into a restful sleep.

I began pulling myself out of the sand, slowly pulling each individual grain of sand that I wanted to be a part of me together to regain the identifiable form of Nicolas Tyme. I reformed hand first, then I reached out to push the lid off the chest, mustering enough strength to explode and let sand fly everywhere. I extended my giant arm out of the chest and summoned the spilt sand, allowing it to slide further down my body and solidifying until I could climb out. I saved my feet for last, touching the unfinished nubs of my legs to the last bit of sand. After making sure every miniscule pebble was in place and that my form was secure, I headed downstairs to eat some gravel. Being made of rock I hadn’t any taste buds or soft parts (when I chose), so I ate things like gravel and aluminium as you may ingest cereal or taste buds. I could never get tired of a flavour or texture; I couldn’t physically feel except for hot or wet, and only then by comparing them to the current temperature or form. Still, the heat never hurt.

On my way downstairs I checked myself in the full-length mirror to make sure all was proportional, fixed all the tones as to look remotely as I pictured myself, and even added a nice pair of Bermuda shorts and an aquamarine shirt. My violet eyes shone brightly, and my smile was – as usual – impeccable. I hadn’t any breath or teeth to get cavities, so there was no need to brush my teeth, no dentistry to take care of. After checking myself, I left through the back door to go for a stroll on the beach. The shoreline always looked so beautiful at sunrise. It was before dawn. You may find the time I woke up to be early. However, keep in mind that sand does not sleep. I simply allow myself a few hours of mindless wandering in a formless shape. Wherever my mind goes is what I call “dreaming,” and when I feel it is time to get up, I “awaken”.

I walked on the path along the beach until I reached a limestone rock, and then I sat upon the sand. As soon as I had contact with the sand, another conscience joined mine.

“Pretty decent, Viktor. You?”

“Ah, yes. Charlotte Kalen, a young lady”

<Is she nice?> In response I sent some of my memories to Viktor Crayl, who laughed.

<Oh no, dear friend! I fear you’re in love!> I blushed and Viktor laughed some more.

“How could I—”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh... god… why?”

“Another one?! This is horrible! And he chose to just let his mind go out like a light?”

<Word is he gave his memories to Lady Estelle.> I held my hands to my face. <If only I had two cup and a bottle of vodka…>

“Missing the days of war, Viktor? Missing Russia?”

<More like the days of drink!> I smirked. <Besides, they don’t have good sand in Russia.> I laughed with Viktor. He could turn any awkward moment into a joke.

<Hey, Avril and I make a good beach, huh?> Hearing her name, Avril – the founder-of-our-city’s daughter – joined in conversation.

“About sunrise.”

<Oh, ha-ha, Nicolas. How are your poplars?>

“Amazing, thanks. Anne and Clayton are growing them quite nicely with me. Thanks for sending them.”

<Oh, no problem, dear! And Charlotte, the girl who moved next to your estate?>

“Very well-mannered and polite, really.”

<I think Nicolas is simply enthralled with her.> Viktor mumbled. Avril laughed. I saw someone walking towards us and so told the other two sand-people goodbye and stood to leave.

“Nicolas, is that you?” It was Charlotte.

“Good morning, Ms. Kalen. What are you doing up so early?”

“I usually watch the sunrise. Sadly, I haven’t found my paints and canvases yet, else wise I‘d be painting by now.” I had a rapid idea.

“I’ve paints and the like in my house. If we get there quickly enough…”

“Oh, would you? I certainly would appreciate it!” Viktor slid by, and I felt him smiling.

“Shut up, Viktor.” I mumbled lowly so that Charlotte wouldn’t hear me. She jumped onto her bike and began riding away. I allow my sand molecules to spread into the wind, allowing me flight. I swiftly headed towards my window and fell down the stairs. I resumed my usual form, checking myself in the mirror, and went to open the door. Charlotte was preparing to knock on the door, and she jumped when I opened it suddenly.

“Welcome to Seulport, Ms. Kalen. Please do come in.”

“How did you get here so fast? Let me guess, something you cannot tell me.”

“You catch on, Ms. Kalen, rather quickly. Now, if we’re to see this sunrise we should rush to the fourth floor. Sadly, there is no elevator, but my friends Anne and Clayton shall perhaps carry you up.” Anne and Clayton rose from their chests and formed quickly, appearing beside Jennifer and smiling kindly.

“Good morning Master Tyme. Perhaps had you woken us earlier we would have fixed breakfast for the visitor?” Clayton rumbled in his deep voice.

“Oh, but I felt you might enjoy a few hours’ rest!” Anne elbowed Clayton, realizing that I hadn’t been expecting Charlotte and that she didn’t know what we were. He nodded in understanding and let Charlotte place her weight in Anne and his hands. They ran up the stairs and I followed, walking three steps at a time as were my helpers. When we reached the fourth landing, Anne and Clayton let Charlotte down.

“What a pleasant panorama, Mr. Tyme!” She spoke about my gigantic one-way window, revealing a spectacular view of Avril’s beach and the sunrise. I pulled out a piece of canvas and oils for Charlotte, letting her paint the sunrise. I worked on one of my clay projects, modelling the ocean and how the sun reflected off its waters. Almost after the sunrise was finished, Charlotte was done with her work.

“Voila!” she exclaimed after signing it, “What are you working on so diligently?”

“A plate. I make and sell my works, which is part of how I was able to own this house.” Charlotte nodded. I placed the new plate in the cairn and set a timer.

“So, Nicolas, what is it that you do as your main occupation?”

“I write poems or songs; I also create glass out of sand and sell pottery and other forms of art. All are sold off the Internet.”

“Is that all you do for a living? You don’t go to carnivals?” I shook my head. “But how can you stand it? The same thing every day of your existence?”

“I dunno… I suppose I’ve just gotten into a rut that I enjoy.”

“A rut, Mr. Tyme, is in no way enjoyable. That’s why art was created, to have something ever-changing, everlasting. You must be a peculiar man to enjoy a habit, Mr. Tyme.”

“Well a peculiar man I am… and I must insist, call me Nicolas or Tyme, no Mr. please.”

“Well then, stop calling me Ms. Kalen!”

“Alright then… Ms. Kalen.” I smiled mischievously.

“Okay, Mr. Tyme.” She beamed at me. Anne appeared again with a plate and two cups. She gave me my cup of salted gravel and Charlotte the sandwich upon a plate and a cup of tea. I pulled out a stool for Charlotte to sit upon and gave myself a tree stump.

“Is that an oak tree stump?” Charlotte asked.

“Of clay, yes.” Charlotte thoughtfully chewed on her sandwich.

“You know, I’m quite tired of my ignorance of your past.”

“Ignorance is innocence,” I observed. Charlotte smiled and continued.

“So how about we make a deal. Every day we’ll meet at the beach or here – wherever you prefer – and I’ll give you some of my personal information and memoirs while, in exchange, you give me some of yours. Deal?” I let the idea bounce around in my mind a moment before replying. The promise of seeing Charlotte everyday was almost too much emotional enjoyment. I stared out the window another moment and then answered.

“I shall agree to this, but only if one boundary is fulfilled… pardon, two conditions.”

“Only two, Nicolas Tyme?” Charlotte’s eyes sparkled.

“Indeed, Charlotte. The first is that you decide wherever we meet and tell me a day in advance. The second is that you mustn’t run away after I tell you and you must swear upon the highest oath that you will not repeat my words to anyone.”

“I accept these terms, Nicolas.” Charlotte held out her hand as I did mine. We also pinkie-swore, called upon Anne and Clayton to observe and bear witness to those oaths, and walked out to the gazebo in the back of my estate.

“Shall we begin with a session now, Nicolas?”

“No time like the present.”

“Oh, so you brought a gift?” Charlotte teased, “Well, I’ll begin. Perhaps you wonder where I learned the song I sang that other evening? My mother used to sing it to me when I was born as a lullaby. She taught it to me when I was six. Unfortunately, she died due to a snake bite when I was fifteen. The song and a few other items in my possession are all I’ve left of her, besides the memories.” A grim silence passed by.

“I am sorry about your loss.”

“All is well now. I dedicate a portion of my birthday cake to her every year, for we were born on the same day: September twenty-fourth.”

“All the same… well, I suppose I could tell you about my love of art. My father was a direct descendant of Michelangelo’s sisters – one of them, at least. However, many of the curators and critics of my father’s sculptures would believe he was Michelangelo’s protégé. Father instructed me in the ways of his craft while my mother taught me to paint with the swift but gentle brushstrokes of watercolour,” I paused, voice cracking, “I dunno what happened to both of them – as I was taken away from them at the age of eighteen – but I have their gifts” Charlotte nodded and pat my leg.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Nicolas.” Together we enjoyed the view of the setting sun, watching the purple clouds darken into silver as lit by the moon.

“So, Charlotte, where shall we meet tomorrow?” A moment went by before she replied, “Perhaps in the park I passed by when I first moved here, the one with a dolphin in the middle…”

“Ah, Seaview Park. At what time?”

“Around lunch, maybe?”

“I’ll bring mine and yours?” I suggested.

“Per chance we do a pot-luck?”

“It sounds as ravishing as ever!” I exclaimed. Charlotte laughed at the way my native accent grew thicker with each word.

“Tell me, Charlotte, from where do you hail?”

“From the Sterling District. You?”

“From Erinne.”

“Really?” I nodded happily. Charlotte inched closer.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Half past noon?” I asked.

“See you then!” Charlotte pecked me on the cheek and skipped away like a schoolgirl. Anne appeared outside the gazebo.

“Well, Mr. Tyme, I suppose we’ll be telling her about your strange diet tomorrow?” Anne sat beside me, smiling.

“I will Anne. Can I help you with anything or are you here because of the moon?” Anne looked at me in surprise. “You think I don’t know what goes on around my own estate?”

“I just didn’t expect… well, to answer your question, I’ve come to give you the calendar for the upcoming Solartide.”

“Lady Estelle is visiting in eighteen noons, Trigon comes an evening afterwards. Mr. Daniels is coming for his pottery pick-up and fresh clay is to be delivered four mornings afterwards. Your acrylic and oil paints will come two seven-sets afterwards. The editor of your poems says she needs about fifteen more by the end of this Solartide.”

“As usual,” I mumbled.

“Mhmm. Also, Viktor and Avril would like to come in a cycle, if that’s fine with you?”

“I can fit them in. Anything else, Anne?”

“No, Mr. Tyme, I believe that’s it.”

“No vacation day for you and Clayton? You two have been working so wonderfully for two cycle-sets.”

“We’ll manage.”

“Actually,” I said pressing on, “I think I’ll give you two a forced four seven-sets off.”

“Sir…”

“I shall not take no for an answer, Anne. Is there anything else?” Anne half glared at me, and then commenced laughing.

“You, Mr. Tyme, are indeed the most peculiar man I have ever met! I haven’t anything to report. Shall I prepare supper?”

“Why not? It’s eveningtime already.” The two of us went inside and, along with Clayton, enjoyed a lovely meal of soft granite patties —the equivalent to filet mignon for us. I sat on my clay chair for a few spans of time, looking out of my fourth floor window, watching the city of Avril slumber until I followed their suit.

“So all you eat are rocks and other abiotic things as long as they do not contain any liquid, huh?” Charlotte and I were seated on a blanket upon the grass in close range of the dolphin of Seaview Park.

“Pretty much. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Well no wonder you’re so skinny!” Charlotte poked me where my ribs would be. “I suppose I’ll tell you my heritage now, and why I’m in Avril rather than where I was born.”

“That is fine by me,” I replied.

“Good. I am the daughter of Princess Alaine of Lyndifer, the daughter of Queen Gwen of the same country. When I was born, a group of radicals overran Lyndifer, and in order for me to survive I needed to hidden in a space of concealed safety. I was adopted by a lovely couple who swore to never reveal my past to anyone, especially me. Naturally, I found out for myself and ran away to the one place they’d never look for me: by the sea.”

“Why would they not look for you by the sea?”

“I used to have nightmares about drowning in the sea.” I nodded and tossed a pebble into my mouth like popcorn.

“That’s a tragic tale, Princess Charlotte.”

“My Lyndiferian name would be Ailis.”

“Princess Ailis.” I bowed and Charlotte laughed.

“Perhaps I’ll knight you one day.”

“I look forward to it. Shall I call you ‘Princess’ or ‘Your Highness’ from now on?”

“Charlotte would be greatly appreciated.”

“As you wish. Now, tell me, you said your mother died?”

“Yes, sadly… and by that I mean my blood mother, the late Princess Alaine.” I nodded. I’d met Princess Alaine on a couple occasions through Lady Estelle. They were cousins. Princess Alaine didn’t deserve to die as she did, and these days, many do.

“So, will you tell me about how you reached Avril and your heritage?”

“Aye. I was born to two scientists. They attempted experiments upon me and I ran away when I was ten. Eight years later I was caught by an associate of theirs who didn’t know who I was. He brought me to the Hourglass Facility—”

“The Hourglass Project?”

“Yes, the one that molecularly combined humans and sand. There was an age range for the bonding to be successful: seventeen to twenty-six. Eighteen to twenty works the best. Below seventeen and they worked with incalculable hormone bursts. Any older and the person would mentally fight harder, unravelling the mind and sending the victim into a blind rage, inevitably ending with them being either forcibly or just to angry… we call it Dissolving. We die, but only when our conscience leaves forever. Our memories, thoughts, feelings; all that must pass before we do. That’s who we are, anyway: thoughts and sand. Without the thoughts, well…” I let my hand flow into the wind to demonstrate my thoughts, making Charlotte gasp in surprise. I placed more gravel in my mouth, chewing it up and letting it flow through my throat and chest, along my arm, and forming a new hand. I made sure it was smooth and proportionate.

“And now I answer your other question.

“I met Viktor Crayl when I escaped from the Hourglass Facility. He’s a man of sand too, and dwells in the beach by my home. He also was running from the scientists and helped new runaways find a place to live. He found Avril an empty town and we fought our way through the scientists here. Along the way we met Avril, granddaughter of Avril’s founder, and she along with Viktor lives as the beach.”

“They’re the sand?”

“Their consciences are, yeah.

“And no one noticed?”

“Only fellow sand people can hear their thoughts as their current form. Avril’s family knows, but today’s generation only thinks it a myth.”

“I’ll think about that next time I visit.”

“Do say hello. They may appear in a form similar to mine and allow you a conversation.” I gulped down a bowl of igneous rock, letting it churn in my chest cavity.

“Do you breathe?”

“No, but by forcing the air that flows thought me every time I move up my throat and out my mouth, I speak.”

“Can you change texture? Hard to soft, that kind of thing?” I nodded my head and took her hand in mine, shifting from titanium solid to cotton soft and everything in between.

“You said you make glass?”

“I stick rods of metal in Viktor or Avril, sometimes myself. When the super hot lightning hits the rod and then the sand, it forms glass around the impact site. Sometimes sand gets stuck inside… it looks magnificent, although it’s hard to disengage some of the personality that gets stuck too. Once I lost the memory of where my home was… luckily Viktor showed me the way.”

“Does it hurt?” Charlotte’s innocent question made me smile.

“You are asking sand if it can feel? We haven’t the gift of touch; we do not have nerves or anything… scratch that, we have some form of eyes that are similar to a hawk’s, but they are synthetic, to be put in every morning.” I stopped a minute to let the visibly struggling Charlotte digest the new information.

“So, yeah, you are talking to a pile of sand.” Charlotte laughed at the absurdity of that comment. “Where do we meet tomorrow?”

“I heard there is a fair coming tomorrow, the AstroArtist Carnival.”

“Tomorrow already? I’m actually a participant in that.”

“Really? That’s lovely! Maybe I could be in your booth.”

“We’d have to enter together, which means co-creating a piece of art. Tonight.”

“Fourth floor?” Our eyes met, her icy blue to my deep violet, and we smiled. We picked up the picnic blanket and walked towards Seulport.

“I’ll meet you there, Charlotte. I have to go ahead for something.” I winked and allowed myself to be pulled into the breeze. In a short minute, I landed at my front door and opened it, strolling in happily.

“Hello, Mr. Tyme. Did you enjoy the lunch?” Anne smiled.

“Thoroughly, thanks. I greatly appreciated it.” Anne nodded and Clayton walked in.

“I heard about our vacation. Thanks.” Clayton bowed on his way out, the man of few words. Anne and Clayton were former servants of Lady Estelle, who gave them to Avril and Viktor, who gave the couple to me. Clayton was Anne’s lover and opposite. He often seemed distant and cold while Anne could be social and warm. I enjoyed watching their arguments, such as the following from two mornings ago:

“Why did you break it, Clay?!”

“It wasn’t on purpose, Anne.”

“But ‘twas the gift of a fortune!”

“’Tis only an object. Can’t it be redone?”

“It took me five cycles to make it!”

“Sorry.” Anne glowered.

“That’s all? ‘Sorry.’ That’s it?! I’m quite done with you, Clayton!” Clayton caught Anne by the wrist and forced her to look into his eyes; he smiled.

“I am quite sorry, Anne, that I broke your gift.” Anne smiled as if in a dream, as did Clayton, and the two hugged.

Quite a cute couple.

Charlotte and I were painting on this huge sixty square decimetre large canvas later that evening. I painted the cold, wine-dark sea while she did the starry sky. I added a reflection of the moon within the ocean. We listened to Beethoven, Celia Cruz, Alice in Chains, Modest Mouse, Death Cab for Cutie, and the Beatles. The sun had risen by the time we were finished with our cooperative piece of art. Charlotte and I stood back, looking at our work.

“I do believe, Mr. Tyme, we have done it.” I simply nodded in agreement, eyeing our work to spot possible flaws in texture or lighting. Charlotte yawned and I remembered that she was a human of carbon bonds, not sand.

“Oh dear, it’s quite late. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

“I can go home…”

“No, you’ll need plenty of rest for tomorrow. It shall be a long day.”

“I don’t know if I can go to sleep I’m so excited!” I laughed.

“Anne! Could you possibly come up a minute?” My female aide appeared inside of the art room on the fourth floor.

“Could you please escort Ms. Kalen to our guest room, preferably the one with the bed and not the chest of sand?”

“With the soothing scents and sounds, sir?”

“The very one, if you don’t mind.” Anne bowed and took Charlotte by the hand.

“Good night, Charlotte.”

“G’night, Nicolas!” I waited until she was down the stairs to call for Clayton, who smiled.

“Yes, Tyme?”

“Go retrieve a pair of clothes for Charlotte to choose from. Use Lucille’s old cabinet, please.” Clayton smiled wider and jogged off. Lucille was the former owner of Seulport before Viktor and I asked to stay in it. She had died twenty years later and we’d given her a magnificent funeral. Clayton and Anne reappeared.

“She’s asleep in the purple nightgown, Tyme. Is there anything else to do, sir?”

“Nothing but go to sleep.” Anne and Clayton nodded and walked out, leaving me to my thoughts. Eventually I entered my chest of sand and slept.

I woke with a soft knocking on my chest door.

“Wake up, Nicolas! It’s about time to go.” It was Charlotte, gently awakening me. I saw her gasp when I opened it and was all sand.

“Oh… you’re in there, right?” I slowly got out, reforming into the familiar shape of Nicolas Tyme, man of sand, once again. Charlotte stood and watched; it was awkward, like she was watching me get dressed. In a way, she was.

“Good morning.” I grumbled, forming my nose. I made it last to make sure my face was proportional.

“So that’s how you wake up every morn?”

“Everyday. Did you have a fitful sleep in my dwelling?”

“I did. This purple gown was a surprise, though, and silky smooth!” May I inquire the place of purchase?”

“It belonged to the former owner of this place, a lady by the name of Lucille. She died twenty years back of a sea jelly sting, but in her will had left the house to Viktor and me. Viktor left, but I stayed on. I couldn’t leave all of the memories the three of us had together to — pardon the pun —dissolve to crumbled rock.” Charlotte nodded. “I hope you don’t find it hard to wear it now.”

“Oh, there’s no problem with that. It’s simply that I cannot figure out why you still have her clothes and belongings.”

“’Tis simply because I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. Lucille was part of my first real family. It would be like burning your m—”

“Mother’s things?” Charlotte played with her hair.

“I apologize for speaking so carelessly…”

“No, no… it’s okay, really. Don’t worry about it. Let’s put this outta our minds and get ready for the art festival!” Charlotte and my eyes met again with the same degree of sadness. After we ate our breakfast, we placed the canvas on the transportable easel and had Anne carry it. Clayton was already setting up shop, so to speak. Charlotte and I walked with Anne to aid her in carrying our massive cooperative painting of the nighttime ocean. When we got to our spot, I remembered on vital thing: the title. We named it Artemis’ Mirror and continued setting up. Clayton and I lifted up the heaviest piece of art — the clay/glass model of a glass palace — while Charlotte made sure each piece of glass was shiny and each pottery piece wasn’t discoloured or chipped. By midmorning our kiosk was well prepared and ready for business. At the end of the day, all of our products but one had been sold. Clayton informed me it had sold at seventeen billion bits, each bit equalling eight dollars. If I recollected correctly, which I usually do, dollars belonged to the United States until 2021, when the world was fully enhanced by globalization save the select few who stayed as they were, finding their way of living more suitable. The United Nations became the People’s Republic of Earth (PRE) and created a universal financial unit: the bit. There were millebits, kilobits, hectobits, and dekabits, going off of the metric system, also in stated by the PRE as the universal measuring system. We didn’t have temperature any more, nor global warming; people finally let nature conquer and rebuilt into the land, not fully destroying any more habitats. No one remembered September eleventh as more than a day of the week, and there were fewer wars as a result of open communications. The world was a pretty fair place in appearance