Thirteen

Time slips this way and that like a stop-motion video unsure if it’s starting or finishing. I hold the truck in position whilst the guardian holds the vessel together, barricading the exits with bars of light delivered alongside our bait.

‘Keep them inside,’ says Time, his control waning. ‘And the vessels eyes open.’

A small dog sits on the Twelve’s lap, front paws resting on his chest and nose pointed at his chin.

‘You. Bring them closer.’

I picture what once were my hands opening, what once was my tongue coated with an iron fluid and what once was my mother hanging and smiling behind me. The truck bludgeons its way through the stagnant air, ripping atoms apart and spilling the contents into another pool of...

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