Time is a ten-ton chunk of iron compressed by the massive pressures of the deep dark sea. Each second that goes by another electron interchanges between the salt water and the mass of iron. A precarious balance of elements that never ceases to be. Yet, oxidation is in action and so time slowly dies. For nearly three hundred and fifty years time knew no friends, no enemies, and no reprive from the intense compression placed upon it by the aimless waters of the Marianna Trench. And still it remains, alive and yet so very dead. Seconds into minutes. Minutes into an eternity of liquid depression and metallic oppression. Its birth was always with no beginning, but it so longed for an end. Time felt. Boy did it feel. Cold and weary. Pressed and hounded by the dreariness of living under the greatest of pressure.
Before, time was a beautiful and silken red rose petal resting on the forehead of an angel. Blessed by the carbon and helium it derived from trillions of years ago when it went BANG! But the alternate universe came to be. And all ways transmogrified, changed forever into great dullness and despair. The angel weeped for what was never meant to be. Time had changed everything. Then, with a solitary tear the angel released time from the heavens. Now manifested as a shooting star, time plunged like a demon through the atmosphere catching flame and oxygen. A tremendous inferno that was only quelched on impact into the troubled waters of the Pacific where it remains today thinking things over and over and over, until the end of time.
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