Time. Bedroom. Night. Fan.

'Twas very late at night, so very late that you could probably call it morning. But it was still fairly dark, the sun was far away, and so was George's sense of realism. He was aware of how he could barely see anything, until suddenly, with a fair amount of alarm, it dawned on him that Time was in the room with him. Time stood in the corner, with a long grey beard and a twisted smile that said, "I know something you don't know! HA!"

George was horrified. And powerless. He suddenly found that he couldn't move. But Time did not approach him. Time remained in the corner. Tall. Fat. Bearded. Lumpy.

A nearby fan hummed incessantly.

A bird sang outside. It must have been confused, because it was pitch black outside. Never sing in the dark.

Time stared at George for a long time. Time had black eyes. They were frightening. George summoned up all his strength and rolled over so he wouldn't have to look at Time anymore. But he could tell that Time was still in the room--he could smell it. And he could feel something, something tangible. Not malice, but something deep and brooding, like the moment of uncertainty between 9:49 and 9:50 when, for a split second, you have no clue where you are, you forget that you have a body, and you drift between dimensions. Then 9:50 resolves itself, the room comes into focus, the fan is still humming, and Time scratches his chin.

George threw a pillow at time. The pillow vanished. George fainted, and when he woke up, Time was still there. Time will always be there. George will find a way to deal with it, the way people learn to deal with acne or hemorrhoids or something else bodily, like the pain you get in your wrist when you type but you keep typing because you feel like something in your head needs to be preserved. In olive oil in a jar on a shelf in some obscure nation where very few people will see it. But preserved nonetheless, like meatloaf, or gravy on potatoes, stuffing and bread which smells funny and you should have got butter for, as should I have. Sitting on a desk gives you a broader view of the world, and you can be under feet.

All this floated through George's head as he finally worked up the courage to stand up, only to discover that Time was much shorter than it appeared.