by Stewart Wilson
Linear time's a weird thing. There's small things, that people think takes small amounts of time, and big things, that take big chunks of time. They don't see that there's just things, if they just cut loose of their preconceptions, they could fly far and free in the time it takes to make a cup of coffee.
On the rails again, halfway up the country. In Leicster I met a girl, and for the hour between there and Birmingham New Street I was in love in a way many people will never experience, not a second of which was spent standing still. In motion, all the time. And there I was, in love with the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and we exchanged maybe a hundred words before she's got to get to another platform and she waves to me, blows me a kiss. In that one moment my heart breaks into a hundred pieces as I know I'll never see her again. A minute later I'm feeling myself again, so I go slide through the crowd.
One week I tried my hand at politics. I lied and I cheated, I faked statistics and made up excuses, all to get to know the system because it was interesting at the time. I find it funny when people assume that governments don't regularly sacrifice children now. I wouldn't put it past them. But my week is over, and mostly politics just bores me.
I spent part of a day in Bletchley, a historical dichotomy. On the one hand all there is to see is piles of ores and rocks and minerals, waiting to be unloaded onto trains or processed or whatever those companies do, and on the other there's Bletchley Park. The place is still MoD, and I didn't feel like breaking in. The historical inertia there is astounding. I could still feel a wind of numbers brushing against my skin, the thousands of decrypted messages, their encrypted forms flapping at my skin like discarded envelopes in the breeze. Most people will only think it's a really boring town. I know it was the key installation during WWII. I feel special, though my train arrives and the moment passes as the ash falls off my cigarette.
For one brief moment, I knew the secret keys to reality and any one thing I wished for could have been mine. I was in America at the time, so I wished to find a bar that served proper beer. Whenever I tell people that, they think I'm insane. I could have had anything. Unimaginable wealth. All the women in the world. My own private continent. But if I had any of those things, it'd require work. I wouldn't be able to slip through the world you created, living in the cracks of a society I'll never understand, seeing one thing at a time with all the available light.