The Iterative Hourglass
The rain tasted of ash and broken promises. Not the clean, cleansing ash of a forest fire, but the lingering, acrid residue of collapsed timelines and unfulfilled destinies. I flicked the half-smoked cigarette into a puddle, the water hissing a brief protest before swallowing it whole. The Iterative Hourglass sat heavy in my coat pocket, a cold, smooth weight against my thigh.
I found it, or perhaps it found me, in a dusty antique shop tucked away on a forgotten side street. The shopkeeper, a wizened old woman with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of centuries, simply nodded when I picked it up. No price, no explanation, just a knowing look that sent a shiver down my spine.
The Hourglass was unlike any I’d ever seen. Its glass was a deep, swirling amethyst, and the sand within wasn’t sand at all, but shimmering particles of what looked like solidified light. And it didn’t measure time linearly. Instead, it seemed to iterate, looping back on itself, creating fractal patterns in the flow of moments.
The First Iteration
Curiosity, that insatiable itch, got the better of me. I turned the Hourglass. The world shimmered, then snapped back into focus. A moment. That’s all it was. A single, insignificant moment. But everything felt different. The air was charged, the colours were sharper, and the rain… the rain now tasted faintly of strawberries.
The Second Iteration
I turned it again. This time, the shift was more pronounced. The antique shop across the street, the one that had been boarded up for years, was now open, a warm light spilling onto the rain-slicked pavement. A younger version of the wizened shopkeeper stood in the doorway, smiling. She didn’t recognise me.
The Third Iteration
Another turn. The city was different. Buildings I knew were gone, replaced by towering structures of glass and steel. Flying vehicles zipped silently overhead. The rain tasted of nothing at all, as if the very concept of taste had been erased.
The Hourglass was changing things, rewriting reality with each iteration. But I wasn’t just observing the changes, I was becoming part of them. My memories were shifting, my sense of self eroding with each turn.
The Looming Paradox
I knew I had to stop. The Hourglass was too powerful, too dangerous. It wasn’t just altering the world, it was unraveling it, thread by thread. The potential for paradox was immense. I could erase myself from existence, create a reality where I had never been born.
But the temptation was overwhelming. What if I could create a perfect world? A world free from suffering, free from regret? The Hourglass hummed in my hand, a siren’s call in the storm.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and made my decision. I wouldn’t use it again. I carefully placed the Iterative Hourglass back in my pocket. The shop door across the street vanished.
The Finality (Perhaps)
I began to walk away, the rain washing over me, cleansing me, or so I hoped. The taste in the air lingered, faint and metallic. Regret? Maybe. But also, a strange sense of freedom.
Then, I noticed something. In my pocket, there was no longer a weight. I reached in, and found only a handful of ordinary sand.
Had it ever been there at all?