'The Nick of Time' by Suzanna Lundale

“Hi, are you a friend of Annika’s? I’m her brother, Nick.”

“Oh, I– Yes, she’s a colleague, but I only just arrived this term. Pleasure to meet you. Are you also in Time Studies?”

“I am, but more on the experiential end.” Nick gave a winning smile, and Annika knew with conviction that he imagined a little starburst over one tooth and a little ‘ting!’ like in the cartoons.

“Oh, you mean you actually time travel?!”

“Yes, I do,” he practically purred, popping open the business card case he always kept close to hand. “I’m something of a private detective…through time.” He fixed his gaze on the punch bowl by Dr. Erickson, staring into what he no doubt imagined was the middle distance.

“Nick of Time Investigations,” read the woman from the card. Annika wondered how she managed it without laughing, but some people seemed to find her brother charming.

Nick tried to suppress his crow of delight at hearing the name out loud, so it came out as a snort. “That’s my little witticism. Nick of Time, get it? Because I’m Nick!” Again the grin with the glinting tooth.

This proved a bridge too far for the woman. She muttered some excuse and walked hurriedly away. Annika would have to find out who she was and apologize, so she didn’t think the whole family is mad. Nick was still gazing after her when Annika sidled up to him. “Strike out?”

Nick started and looked down at his sister. “Nah. She’ll be back. Just in the Nick–” Annika groaned, which made him grin all the harder as he finished, “of Time!”   

'Time Waits For No Man' by Ruth Allen-Humphreys

 

They say a watched pot never boils but they never mention kettles. It would have been quicker if there’d been less water, but it was tea for two. I watched in horror as the bus sped past without me on it. I was late, for a very important date. I waited, and then three more came at once. This was a blessing in disguise because it meant I travelled a new route, enjoyed a change of scenery and, as my pulse slowed, I found that a change is as good as a rest.

 

A lone magpie signalled sorrow; roadworks took us to the back of beyond. When my bus got in, I hit the ground running, resisting the temptation to look for my missing watch in my bag; I didn’t have the time. I burst into the meeting, better late than never I suppose, but my sweaty appearance did nothing to inspire confidence.

 

I locked eyes with my nemesis. I couldn’t think why they’d hired him. Between you, me, and the gatepost, I wouldn’t have touched him with a barge pole. Except of course he’d arrived on time and didn’t look like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Putting aside my irritation, I concentrated on getting through the rest of the day.

 

At the bus stop, heading home, it seemed my luck had changed. A car pulled up; the window lowered. ‘His’ head popped out and offered me a lift. Gritting my teeth, I accepted; beggars can’t be choosers and I didn’t want to cut my nose off to spite my face. All I wanted was to climb the wooden hill to Bedfordshire, arrive in the land of nod and put the longest day, (the actual longest day; June 21^st) behind me. After all, tomorrow is another day.

'Time Flies' by Donna M Day

Remember that Time is very old and grumpy and He won’t want to fly but until Time flies, Time stands still and when Time stands still, a kettle never boils, watched or not, and I need a cup of tea.

'Time is of The Essence' by Tilly Greenland

Jonathan Time was a grumpy man. Throughout his life people would mock him: correct answer – the Time is right; wrong answer – wasting Time; a little whiffy – Time is ripe; walking in front of someone – behind the Time(s).  I won’t even begin to explain “doing Time”.

Jonathan Time was a patient man.  He knew that one day, he would win. They had it coming. All in good time.

Jonathan Time was a troubled man.  He heard whispers.

“Killing Time.”, and darting eyes.

“Time flies.”, and small titters.

“Hit the big Time.” and large exaggerated swinging motions.

“You’ve got too much Time on your hands,” said another.

“Ew, wash that off.” and they fell about, laughing

Time passed. It was donkey’s years before the time was right.

Jonathan Time was a man on the clock. Time was ticking. He was up at the crack of dawn, busied himself like there was no tomorrow. At the eleventh hour on the dot he left the house. He was painfully aware that there was no time left to lose and there would be no turning back.

Jonathan Time waited for his tormentors. In the blink of an eye, Time was upon them. His plan worked like clockwork. Before they knew it they had their arses whooped into next week.

Jonathan Time was a pleased man. In the nick of time, he paused and they grovelled. “Sorry,”, he said. “That boat has sailed. You are too late. But I’ll call it a day. You may go.” Their parting was swift and he never saw them again.

'Turn Back Time' by Julia Ruth Smith

Dad has invited Cher to the birthday meal. I can tell by the way my mother is icing the cake, slapping on the cream as if adultery itself was hiding inside ready to jump out and surprise her. 

‘It’s not even his birthday, it’s MINE.’ Slap goes the icing. Slap, slap, slap. She finishes the job by throwing the good knife (wedding present) into the kitchen sink, cracking a tea saucer (wedding present.) 

It’s then I notice a velvet-covered horse on the windowsill turned so it looks out over the vegetable patch to the further field where two figures can be seen, deep in conversation. 

Mum catches my gaze and strikes a sticky finger in the direction of the horse,

‘And that, that is her gift to me.’ She’s frothing at the mouth as she snatches it up, stamps a foot on the pedal bin and lobs it in.

I wager other things will be thrown before the night is over.

‘Twenty-five years of marriage and he brings home Cher! Bloody Cher! ’

Time not so much turned back as flung hysterically out the door with a packed suitcase. 

I worry about the horse and fish it out the bin when my mother isn’t looking. 

'Beat the Clock' by Luciennne Cummings

 

‘Age isn’t just a number!’

 

Snow White frowned, then tried to blank her expression. Of all the dark objects her stepmother had left behind, the carriage clock hadn’t been her first concern. Mirrors and apples were strictly prohibited in the castle, and the wicked queen’s wand had been bricked into the cellar, but the clock popped up every time Snow was feeling good about herself, ticking out twisted aphorisms. It never ran down, it was impervious to spells, and even on its tiny legs it was as agile as a cat.

 

‘A stitch in time saves nine!’ The clock grinned with the bottom half of its numerals.

 

‘Thirty is the new twenty! I’m not getting surgery!’ Snow threw a gilt-backed hairbrush at the mantelpiece, but the clock had fled.

 

‘Time flies when you’re having fun!’ a muffled voice said from beneath the bed.

 

Tucking her skirt into her royal bloomers, the princess dived under the four-poster, but came up with nothing but a mouthful of dust.

 

‘Time waits for no one,’ the clock sniggered from the dressing table. Snow aimed a roundhouse kick at the table’s legs, sending it crashing to the floor. In the haze of face powder she felt for springs, splinters, glass, anything that showed she’d at least nicked time.

 

‘Better late than never!’ The clock stuck out a tongue made of cogs and ran up the side of the wardrobe.

 

Snow picked up a fish ornament behind her back. ‘Oh I’m having a whale of a time!’ she yelled as the porcelain sailed through the clock’s glass, taking out its works.

 

Silence.

 

‘What are you up to?’ Her husband stood in the doorway, staring at the devastation. ‘We’re late for your birthday ball.’

 

Snow wiped her hands on her dress. ‘Sorry, I was just killing time.’

'O Tempora, O Mores!' by J F King

-There are two points of view. At least. Always.

-No. There is only one. The right one.

-You mean your opinion?

-No, I mean the right one. Objectively.

- I thought this was a fun day out.

-It is. I think so.

-So that makes it fun?

-Man, what is your problem?

We were standing at the foot of the statue. Above us the famous Sea Captain was looking out to sea, middle horizon, in that 18th century kind of way. It was of its time, as, so it appeared were we.

Jaq read the inscription: ‘To strive, to discover, and not to yield.’

-Enough said, she said. Was something concealed in her parka? A hammer, paint, words. Was she going destroy everything right here right now?

-Discover! She exclaimed, a tone of voice I hadn’t heard before. – Wasn’t land there before he went, like all these other continents people like him went to and messed up. 

I thought she was going to regurgitate her chips. Neither of us ate fish anymore.

-Leave it, I said. -It’s there now. It was the way it was. Tempora mores.

-Meaning?

There was a silence, the waves below paused, then resumed. The sun was setting over the crazy golf pitch. It was supposed to be a day to remember, nothing was meant to be serious. It was the seaside, sand not stone.

-I can’t stand it. I’ll see to it. And all the other imperialistic stuff all over the hemisphere.

-You haven’t the time, I said.

Jaq looked at me as if everything was my fault. – Don’t you care about anything? she said.

I walked alone to the bus station below. A police car blared past me on the way up. What do I have to feel guilty about?

'Catastrophe At The Crack Of Dawn' by Jaime Bree

'Pressing self-destruct would be the humane thing to do', he shouted over the siren counting down.

'You're gonna deprive people of these final minutes of their lives you arsehole?' I tried to out-shout the ever growing noise now accompanied with screams whilst watching him grin like a Cheshire Cat. He was playing God. 

'We're living on borrowed time. That crack ain't getting any smaller and the moment the sun rises it's curtains for everyone on this planet and not in a good way. Actions speak louder than words and drown out these goddamn screams, so it feels like a good time to call it a day, don't ya think? You've got your head in the clouds if you think anyone's coming to help us.'

I couldn't believe his audacity and how much he talked. Nineteen to the dozen. A total windbag and definitely a few slices short of a loaf.

'Cat got your tongue?' he said sarcastically.

I would have thrown a punch but there wasn't room to swing a cat. 'Only time will tell if help is coming', I thought. We still had fifty minutes. And then it dawned on me. I needed to get him to pipe down. I mean I needed to bring that pipe down onto his head, then he'd shut the hell up. Swinging a cat maybe not, ninja leg kick? Possibly. I kicked out towards the pipe. It loosened and fell just as predicted. He swayed uneasily on his feet, holding his head.

A message from Earth transmitted onto the screen. Help arriving. ETA fifteen minutes.

'Yes!' I smiled like a cat that got the cream, turned to him as proud as a peacock and watched his swaying become falling as he dropped to his knees, his head hitting...

The self-destruct button.

NFFD 2023 Prompt #15: Time is of the Essence

 

Time is of the Essence

Welcome to The Write-In!  This year, we're celebrating the 2023 National Flash Fiction Day Anthology theme of time.  Throughout National Flash Fiction Day, we'll be posting one time-related prompt on the hour every hour from now until midnight (BST), for a total of 25 prompts in all.  You have until midnight on Sunday (BST) to submit your responses for possible publication here at the Write-In.  We'll start posting responses on Sunday, 25 June 2023....

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In this prompt, it’s time to loosen up, let your hair down, and embrace the cliché!

Find a time-related idiom or phrase and use that as the title for your piece, and feel free to use every cliché, idiom, or well-worn phrase you can think of. Feel free to get silly.

It’s not required, but bonus points are available if you do so in the context of a genre piece.... Maybe it’s a whodunnit called ‘Killing Time’, a Western called ‘Spur of the Moment’, a courtroom drama called ‘Just in Time’, a space opera called ‘Once in a Blue Moon’, or a comedy called ‘A Laugh a Minute’. (Feel free to use these if you like, or come up with your own.)

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If you’re submitting this to us, make sure to note that this is a response to Prompt 15: Time is of the Essence.

You can submit responses until 23:59 BST on Sunday, 25 June 2023 for a chance to be published here at The Write-In.

You can claim the badge for this prompt until 23:59 BST on Sunday, 2 July 2023 by going to the here (hosted by the NFFD website).