And Yet the World Still Moves.
We were only children when we first met. Well, we never did meet, but that was when our paths crossed. I saw Mercy from across the room. I was just in the corner, barely able to make them out past my neat little black bangs. They were in the sunlight in the middle of the room. Their radiant skin exuded life into the very room. Mercy always stood out. That is the problem isn't it? Mercy is different than us - the rest of humanity. They are everchanging in the way time is constantly flowing. They are never static. Unlike me. I halt everything. I halted everything just to be with them, to be near them…and the universe said no. Hah. No.
It was in that little classroom that I found my necessary obligation. Art needs an observer to exist and the observer needs art to be reminded of beauty. Mercy needs me to admire their beauty because no one else does. You do not lock away a masterpiece in a dungeon. You do not tear its lovely canvas or treat it with acid. Anger floods me at the memories of those ingrates who ignore or, worse, insult Mercy. I’d watch from across the classroom as incorporeal ripples fanned through the air and those brats would play a cruel prank on Mercy.
The first few times I viewed it - removing their chair here so they’d crash into the hard floor, putting glue on their hands there, erasing their writing - I thought nothing of it. Pranks are a classic pastime among children. As usual, I’d just watch, waiting for the eventual retaliation in the negligent window of a teacher. The retaliation never came. Mercy’s face would crumple. They refused to cry, and brushed it off when the teacher demanded the other kids apologize. I couldn’t understand. Why subject yourself to such torment? The other kids realized as well, eventually. I would feel hot whenever I saw them hurt Mercy. I assumed Mercy was unwilling to get petty revenge because they were just meek. A good person. So I would do it for them.
I…made it worse.
Apparently, my ripples weren’t easily detected. The other kids got rougher. One day, I’d had an idea. At recess, I gathered my courage and paused time. I’d rarely done it, only those times of reckless childlike revenge or playing games with my brothers. My heart beat fast as I made my way over to Mercy. I always was so unsettled by the black and white world of paused time as a child. Timidly, I’d grabbed their hand. Nothing happened. No shocks. I’d looked down at my hand. There were two bars, but one of them was blank. Panic had gripped my lungs and I found it hard to breathe.
I retreated back to my little corner, utterly terrified. I watched as my own bar on my left palm barely went down. So much faster than normal, it went down. I’d been terrified to unpause time. I’d cried. I didn’t want Mercy to die before I even had a chance to become their friend. To show them that they don’t deserve to be bullied. I must’ve spent a good half hour in that liminal space. I took deep breaths. I unpaused time, watched with fearful eyes as I expected them to collapse to the floor. Nothing happened. They were perfectly fine as they walked toward the play equipment.
I’d taken me the whole day to truly get through the shock. Mercy couldn’t be brought into that frozen world. They didn’t have the ability to retreat. They couldn’t sneakily exact revenge. They couldn’t hide to be vulnerable. Mercy couldn’t pause time. Humanity’s greatest pride and curse wasn’t touchable to Mercy. They are a child of light. They cannot live in the phantom of a world. I can halt anyone except Mercy. It is cruel that I can’t help them be in peace, that I must be alone in the dark without them. And yet the world still moves.
