<Warning - contains swearing>

Time.

I think I've spoken about it with you before. It's a playful little fucker, and not necessarily in a good way. It uses us like an elastic band, stretching us out and back, out and back until we have no idea even what day it is. Not that, usually, I have a clue anyway, but that's not the point. Time doesn't know that.

Sure, it can give us a little leeway. Make the good times last an hour or so longer – or, if you're my brother and going by what his wife says, a minute longer... It can suck the seconds from the instances where we wished we could just get it over with. But there's always an agenda. Always another viewpoint we'll never see. And then, the elastic band snaps back to reality, and oops there goes gravity, as the little chocolate drop Smartie wannabe says.

Yeah, always an agenda. As I know too well. Time and me, we're supposed to have an agreement. An understanding of sorts. I leave it alone, and it gives me a bit more than a little leeway. Like a lot more. No elastic. No playtime. Just the two of us being... dare I say friends?

I dare say it, but it's probably a load of ball bags. I should have realised Time was no one's friend. When you could control the universe, you didn't need them. There was nobody even close to your level, as arrogant and self-serving as you would be. I mean all-powerful,

Yeah, that.

So, I decided to play a little trick on the smart-arsed twat. And there was my undoing.

I mean, why shouldn't I? Time wasn't the only one with a little power, except, as humble as I usually am – as you know – I don't let it go to my head. I keep myself, without really trying, on an even keel, without feeling the need to ram home to anyone just who I am. You all know, anyway. The cowl gives it away. The scythe is probably a bit of a hint, too, as is the voice that is so deep it sounds as if it's coming from about three metres below me. Or, if you're still on the imperial scale, erm... hold on. Is it three feet in a metre? No. A bit more. So that's...

Anyway, no matter. The math isn't mathing because the brain is braining. Schemes were a-scheming,

So, how do you mess with Time, when Time is so adept at messing with you?

If you're mortal, you've no chance. Most don't even realise it's an entity and not just some hands moving on a clock, or digits on a screen. I took one soul the other day who didn't know how to read an analogue clock. Can you believe that?

Sigh.

All Celestials take a well-earned nap at the same... erm... time. Even Time. The Fates. The Furies. The Elements. Each sleeps for exactly one heartbeat in the endless gap between midnight and the second after. All of us. It's been that way forever, and no one knows why. No one asks, either. It's just the way it is. It's in the rules, somewhere. The Stars would know. They know everything. They'd be able to tell me the exact subparagraph (whatever the hell one of those is) of the paragraph of the section of the chapter.

The trouble with that was twofold. One, they all felt the need to speak together, which when there's just SO MANY of them, is cacophonous. Two, I didn't really give a shit.

The fact it happened was all I needed.

So, when the Null came and we all gathered together for our eternal single heartbeat sleep (I know, how can it be eternal if it stops – I didn't write the rule book – if you're so bothered, ask the Stars. I dare ya) I stayed awake. It felt wrong. Very wrong. I was going against something that had been set in stone long before stone existed. I had to, though. Time needed to be taught a lesson.

Me and The Sandman went waaaayyyyyyy back. We'd been friends since kids, spending most of our youth skating across the Ether. Now that pisses all over that stuff you call 'ice'. So, I didn't think he'd miss a little from his pouch. Just a slack handful of the magic dust he scatters everywhere. It would be fine. They were all knocking out the zeds – though I think Borealis was knocking something else out... I'd sprinkle it over Time, and wait for the magic to happen.

And for Time to oversleep.

Hmmm...

I've never been particularly good with pranks, usually having them played on me than being the player – like that time my quill was replaced with a snake. I just reached into my pocket to grab it and the creature sank its teeth right in. Thankfully, most of the flesh on my hand has rotten away, so there wasn't much for it to gain purchase on, but it still stung for a millennium or two.

The thing with time was Time couldn't be stopped or paused or done anything with. I should have realised it was essential to the machinations of existence. I should have realised the bastard would get me back, too.

To Time, we're all, even us Celestials, just sands in its hourglass. We slip down until we're squeezed tight at the middle and then we're shit out.

And, talking of shits. Here I am, having my annual ablutions. It takes a while, as I'm sure you can imagine. Regular as that there clockwork.

Which Time would know, of course.

Hence the precisely timed knock on the door.

Hence the shout from the police. Yup, even we have them.

"Come on Death. I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us!"

Time. Such a playful little fucker...