I sit in my tank

all warm and calm.

No one to bother me

no one at all.

I sit in my tank

waiting for that tall pale thing

who feeds me at night

yummy little treats.

I sit in my tank

ready to hunt.

As the thing places that white blob

in the of my home.

I sit in my tank

watching the blob.

Running in circles

all day long.

I sit in my tank

about to strike.

But thing picks me up

and takes me away from blob.

I sit in thing's hand

all curled up and small.

Thing made our eyes lock

and thing smiled.

I sat in thing's hand

" I love you Noodles "

My thing said

as it kissed my small head.

I sat in thing's hand

knowing I'm loved.

I love my thing.

She is my home.

There's always tomorrow. That's a little joke we temporal physicists like to tell, because in truth, who knows?

We stretch time by approaching the speed of light, bend time as we follow the intense gravitational fields embedded in space-time, and even - well, from the viewer's perspective - make time virtually stand still as we cross the event horizon of a black hole, while from our perspective we get stretched and yanked and pulled forward to our doom in the naked singularity at its center. That's all assuming the singularity isn't really a singularity but, instead, it's a wormhole to another point in space --- or time. But I digress.

Tomorrow. It's an intriguing concept. Because you do know, of course, that by the time tomorrow gets here, it is by definition the present and no longer tomorrow. It's a time in the future that will always remain in the future and never be known. Saying "I wish tomorrow wouldn't get here, because ..." Well, don't worry, it doesn't. Never does. Unless ...

There's a theory that you can jump outside the space-time continuum you inhabit, hitch a ride on another one to a point in the first continuum's "future," and peek through a hole as an "observer." By not sharing the continuum, the events you see are ones that are not pre-determined to become the present when you return to your own place and time. By maybe, like Schroedinger's cat, the very nature of observing what this future will be like determines its outcome in your reality. Then, you're left right back where you started, at the continuing present without a single tomorrow ever coming to pass. A given event you are expecting, such as a test, or a marriage, may materialize in your present, but, again, its outcome cannot be predetermined, only the event itself. It's enough to make your head spin faster than the black hole's singularity (if it's a rotating one, that is).

So when you invite tomorrow over for dinner, don't be surprised when it never shows up. Instead you're left with the ever-present present, and unless the laws of physics suddenly change, you always will be. But, hey, you'll have lots of leftovers.

#prose #SF #science #time

It was the way he looked at her.

Like he knew she was the answer to all his problems, the missing puzzle piece, the one who could decipher the key.

It was the way he pressed his lips against her heavenly features.

Ever so gently, one on the tip of her button nose, and one on her forehead as he caressed the nape of her neck with one hand and her cheek in his other. Skin to skin contact made his soul jump.

It was the way he cackled when she was around.

The adolescent boy in him came out to play whenever she told her charismatic jokes. The carefree and relaxed side of him would seep through his introvert shell.

It was the way she made him feel tranquil.

World War III may have been in the works at his parents, and he may have been "in between jobs", and he even may be neglecting his school work so much that it effected his future. He may not have a plan on what to do with his life, but when he was with her all of it seemed acute. All he saw was her in this beautiful universe. Not even the biggest most prettiest star could compare.

It was the way he loved her.

The fiery pit in his stomach only grew stronger everyday. Hearing himself speak those words to her made him want to collapse.

"3 words.. 8 letters.. say it and I'm yours."

But it was the way she said it's over that affected him the most.

Tell me what's worse, not being able to eat a solid meal because of the wrenching pain that's stuck like tar on your heart making it feel like you're suffocating or not being able to sleep because you can't find a section of your pillow that isn't damp from your tears and snot?

"There's a man outside your window," Oliver says, backing away from the curtains.

"I know," Gloria replied, "I see him."

Oliver shifts nervously and focuses his gaze on her.

"Do you," he stumbles with his words, "Do you want me to get rid of him?"

"No," Gloria says with a sly smile. She dims the lights and approaches Oliver. "I told him to come over."

Oliver licks his lips as Gloria undoes the knot of her bathroom. She teases him, making sure to take her time undressing. Oliver's pants tighten, but his eyes dart back to the window.

"Should we, um," his words fight against him, "Should we close the curtains? I can tell him to leave."

Gloria lets her bathrobe drop. Oliver stifens as he takes her in. She poses in her bright red lingerie, the silk dances on her skin with the slightest move. Oliver adjusts the collar of his shirt.

"He doesn't have to go," Gloria says. Her voice is a whisper in his ear. "He likes to watch." One arm goes around his neck as she pulls in for a short kiss. It's tender and the short exchange leaves Oliver barely able to control himself. He shakes and begs to go upstairs.

"Oh, honey, no," Gloria chuckles, "We can't go upstairs. I wouldn't want to get my room messy."

"Ok," Oliver says, "But, can we at least close the curtains?" Oliver points to the window. "That man is still out there."

Gloria smiles as she lifts a couch cushion and pulls out a large butcher knife. "Good."

Oliver's eyes grow wide as he watches her play with the tip of the blade. "I uh, I'm really not into kinky stuff."

Gloria shrugs as she glides over to Oliver. He backs away to the corner of the room. "That's too bad. My friend outside is," she points to the window. The man's face is just outside the glass. The night and dim lighting hides his idenity, but Oliver isn't concerned with him anymore.

"He loves this part." Gloria raises the knife, Oliver screams, and the man outside watches, enjoying every second of their encounter.