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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Time has never moved to me. It was never a living, breathing thing that moved and grazed and ran. It is the most valuable form of currency, and yet it’s the one most squandered.

My purpose was always to make time stand still. I could catch time and hold it in place with nothing more than a paint brush. On a canvas, time is frozen and preserved. The time it took for the paint to drool over the white surface and harden is the time that is sucked into the painting and captured forever.

I stop time in its tracks. I am an artist. I take it and make it and sell it and break it. I’m a master of time. Using it, taking it, wasting it.

So how was it possible that the tip of my finger was hovering over the activation button on a time machine?

Table of Contents

Pilot Draft

Submitted: December 13, 2016

This was a draft I abandoned about two years ago but something is telling me to bring it out of the woodwork. Ready what I have so far and let me know If I should pursue this! Comments, of course, are highly encouraged. Read Chapter

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