Invisible

I still wear the body suit. It is fraying now, and fails to hide my imperfections. The faint scars, the mole on my lip, the hair loss, the single eyebrow caused by crashing through time, fighting the forces dragging me to this frozen landscape.

The street was crowded with people stilled in time, a head turned, a foot raised, a mouth opened in conversation. I weaved around them, in motion, chattering, gesticulating, asking questions, shaking a shoulder to rouse a man from his torpor. They hear and see nothing.

At first, when my wish for more time was granted, I raced through the shopping mall filling bags. I dashed across red lights, danced in front of stationary traffic. In the park, I rocked on the swing without the caretaker reaming me for being too big to play. When I arrived home, I tossed my packages on a table, and showered, trying to remove the faint slough of time.

Hunger forced me to a restaurant, but a motionless chef ignored my demands. From the room-size fridge, I helped myself to bacon, eggs, cheese and peppers which I tossed into a pan I pulled from a rail. The oven worked when I clicked the ignition, and I poured in the eggs.

While they cooked, I added cutlery to a table laid for two, and joined the lifeless couple seated in front of their lasagna, talking to them, and answering for them. A ten-euro tip, filched from the cash register, fluttered on a plate. But no-one moved to collect it.

No television, no radio, no movies, no friends. Alone and isolated, the time I wanted hung heavy.

A clock has no meaning now as I wait for my third wish, a return to normality. I think about how to word it because my second wish brought me to a standstill.

Invisible

I asked for time to pass swiftly, and now I stare motionless from a shop store window, manhandled into position by unfeeling hands. I scream at them, but I know it is useless. I wait, staring through the glass as populations race by.