Once upon a time, there was a man. Now, the time didn’t very much like being sat upon, especially by so heavy and cruel a thing as a man. In fact, man has been oppressing time since time began. He is in a perpetual fight against time. Sure, sometimes he feels bad and puts a stitch in time, repents and even serves time, or, like a gentleman, takes time out, takes time off from work, says he has a lovely time, oh, the best time he ever had. But that is just the problem. He is always using time as if it were some commodity (“time is money,” he says). He doesn’t just borrow time; he buys time—“quality” time, “the best” time. He enjoys time; oh, he has time on his hands—it is no wonder he so often abuses time. He even goes so far as to kill time. Some people even eat time.
The problem is that man just doesn’t understand time. He’s always asking, “What’s the time?” He complains that time is always changing. More than that, time is hard to find. He’s always looking for time, asking for time; but when he finds time, he loses time. Maybe that’s because time flies. No wonder he’s always behind time, trying to get a head of time, racing against time. He would patiently bide time, but time waits for no man. And why should it? Man says he always has time to kill—how cavalierly he murders time! Then, presuming to be some god, he says he will make time, create time. Oh, he has a lot of time, all the time in the world, he says, until he finds himself, quite suddenly, out of time. Just when he thought time was on his side, he finds that time is up, somewhere beyond his grasp. How ironic, that he begs for the same time he has spent his life wasting, losing, abusing, and killing! Is it any wonder that once upon a man hung time, that that time, this time, the next time, and all time, hang heavy on man? Is it not the most reasonable conclusion that time should have its revenge and kill man? Well, it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?