First paragraph of the Prologue...
I have about 3 chapters now.
In a sense, time does not exist for me. Or at least, I do not want it to exist. As much as I yearn for it and desperately beg for it, it still shows me no mercy. Maybe the concept of free-will is what I should put my blame on. I have no choices. But I refuse to blame anything other than time. Time is neither precious nor dear to me; in fact I would call it my bitter enemy. Time has shown me nothing but cruel, repetitive sequences. Despite all this, I need it; I beg for it. My lives are wrapped around the concept of time. How much time do I have? Or a much more terrifying question, how much time do we have? My lives mean little next to his.
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