The Claim Jumper

I liked hearing things in the back of my mind. Guitars. And harps. And instruments that I knew I would never play. At least in my right mind. I sat on a train in silence and quietly built the track in the back. The way back. There were animals running on the horizon and they were chasing me but I was confident in my agility.

It was Friday today. And Fridays were always better than Tuesdays. Bad things always happened on Tuesdays, especially in the 21st century. I sat on the train but all I wanted to do was run as fast as a bullet. I was, for the first time since my childhood, invincible once more. Invincibility is the only thing more fleeting than time. This I knew--which I figured put me ahead of the game.

I put the wristwatch on the floor in carriage nine and I strapped on my boots all the way up to my knees. And right there, in front of everyone else, I trounced it to pieces. There was glass everywhere. Numbers that were now innocuous and broken hands. For a split second, I felt remorse. But then I remembered that for all the days ahead, all the numbered days ahead, I didn't have to count backwards.

No more the pedestrian enigma.