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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ɪɴ ᴍɪɴᴅ & ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ꒱


❝ IS THAT WHY I'M
NAMED DOLORES? ❞

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[2011-2019]

Every morning, Lola walked to school. Every afternoon, she walked home.

The brunette girl was glad that the location of her school allowed her to do this; it gave her time to prepare for the day and relax once it was finished. In her early years, one of her three family members would walk her there with her tiny hand clasped in their larger one. Once she was deemed old enough, she walked alone.

She knew the distance between each place was four thousand five hundred sixty-three feet, which she had counted consciously the first few times before each step had gravitated towards the back of her mind once the path became familiar. The thing was, if asked, Lola could not describe a single building along her route to school bar her own home and final destination. This was because the girl took far more interest in the path her feet were taking than the one her body was.

With her blue eyes glued to the sidewalk, the girl would study each and every crack that was passed (there where two-hundred thirteen), each bump in the pavement (there were twelve), each weed sticking up between the slabs of concrete (this number ranged anywhere from ten to six hundred) and any oddities that might pop up on the day-to-day basis. Sometimes pieces of trash littered the sidewalk (there were usually twenty-four pieces on average and Lola would pick up each and every one), there could be dropped coins or the occasional dollar bill (as of April 1st, 2019, Lola had collected ten dollars and seventy-three cents) or not-so-pleasant dead animals that appeared in her path (thankfully, this number was only in the single-digit zone of five.)

On the whole, Lola found the sidewalk and adjacent street far more interesting than the people passing by or the mostly unchanging buildings that stood along her route. If people took the time to look at the ground, they would find that it was a surprisingly varied environment which might result in them taking more interest in the beige slabs of concrete.

✧✧✧
Dolores Gimbel, Resident Genius [2012]

Lola didn't have any friends.

As sad of a fact as that might sound, it hardly bothered the girl in the slightest. After all, you can't miss what you've never had.

She was a quiet girl on the whole and preferred to watch the world than take an active part in it. She was most vocal at home in the comfort of her family where she knew her slightly odd views and unique perspectives wouldn't be made fun of. At school, she had opened her mouth exactly five times to the current date. This would be the sixth.

In class, Lola was a back-row girl. She wasn't tough like Jane or outspoken like Ryland and she wasn't a quiet artist like Julia. Instead, she tried to scrunch herself in the seat and disappear in the hopes that she wouldn't be called on for an answer. It wasn't that she didn't know the answer— as she often did— but she didn't want the attention that a correct reply would bring.

The brunette was a diligent student and for the most part, the teacher left her alone and respected her space. After being in this career for twenty-one years, Mrs. Evans was confident in her ability to read any type of student and understand their preferences and personality without being directly told. However, sometimes she had to enforce the classroom policy of occasional participation which breached the comfort level of certain students.

Luckily, she also knew most of their strengths in her class and tried her best to ask them questions in their preferred areas. Lola's was History and English and Mrs. Evans was always impressed with the girl's wonderful way with words. Fridays were Spell-off days where she would select two students to stand up at the front of the classroom during Language Arts and give them a list of the week's spelling words. The winner would receive one point of extra credit and teasing was strongly discouraged. This week, she selected Lola Gimbel and Dave Matthews, one of the brightest boys in the class— if not the brightest.

Lola was very much against her current position at the front of the class with everyone's eyes staring at her. Her hands wouldn't stop moving— from clasping together, to fiddling with her hair, to brushing at her bangs, to itching her nose— they couldn't stay still. Dave, on the other hand, was nearly a statue as his back was ramrod straight and his perfectly-pressed clothes were in neat order.

"Let's begin, shall we?" Mrs. Evans asked in a bright voice. "You'll go first, Dave. This week's list is a bit harder than usual so it's alright if neither of you get every word. And remember," her tone became stern as she faced the rest of the children. "Just because someone doesn't know how to spell something doesn't mean they aren't intelligent. Right, the first word is blithe."

"B-L-I-T-H-E," Dave spelled easily.

"Very good. Lola, your word is coffee."

Her voice was much quieter than the boy's but no less confident: "C-O-F-F-E-E."

"Correct. Aquarium."

"A-Q-U-A-R-I-U-M."

"Yes. Conscious."

"C-O-N-S-C-I-O-U-S."

For each word she spelled, Lola counted every letter subtly on her fingers. None of the words had more than ten so she didn't need to worry about running out of digits. Knowing how many letters were there helped her keep track of which ones belonged in the word.

At the end of the fifteen-word list, Mrs. Evans offered a bonus word should both contestants remain standing. For each one spelled correctly, another bonus point would be added up to five. (The bonus words were not on the list for the week and were adjusted in difficulty based on the skill of the spellers.) After that, the spelling would end in a matter of chance with a game of rock-paper-scissors.

"Now we enter our bonus round. Dave, your word is opulence." The definition was given after the word since neither student was expected to know it, as each word in the bonus round would be.

"O-P-U-L-E-N-C-E."

"Correct again," she praised him. "Lola, quaint."

"Q-U-A-I-N-T."

"Yes. Zeal."

"Z-E-A-L."

"Exactly. Resplendent."

"R-E-S-P-L-E-N-D-E-N-T."

"Alright, last word. Orphic. Mysterious and entrancing, beautiful beyond ordinary understanding."

For the first time, Dave seemed to hesitate. "Ophic," he repeated, "O-R-F-I-C. Orphic."

"I'm sorry, Dave, that is not correct. Lola, you now have a chance at the word."

The girl straightened slightly. "Orphic. O-R-P-H-I-C."

Mrs. Evans beamed at the girl. "Very good, that is correct. After congratulating each other for completing the round you may take your seats."

The brown-haired boy turned to her and stuck out his hand. "Congratulations, Gimbel."

"You as well, Matthews," she answered politely as she shook his hand. " It was a real challenge going up against the class genius." (She meant this as a compliment. Luckily, the boy understood.)

He gave her a smile. "It looks like you're the resident genius now, Dolores Gimbel."

✧✧✧
The Clockwork Tinkerer [2008]

Edward Gimbel was a contradictory person. On an average day, he had a fun, childlike personality that allowed him to get along well with his young niece. He could laugh and play just as well as she could and never seemed to run out of energy or enthusiasm. Then, on other days, he was quiet, thoughtful and withdrawn. He shut himself in the tiny shed that the family had built behind their house and work on the myriad of clocks he had collected over the years— everything from antiques to modern digital.

Lola's father said that his brother had always been like this, as if his humor could make up for the times when he seemed to be a different person entirely. When they had been children and teens, Edward had never been concerned with dates or girls or anything of the sort. Instead, he preferred instead to lock himself away and study. He was the curious one of the two— always wanting to learn something new, seeing the world with a different lens than the average person, noticing details and relationships that others often didn't.

Edmund supposed that this is why his brother and daughter got along so famously: neither had an average thought in their head. Lola, the romantic optimist and Edward, the thoughtful critic were as thick as thieves. He'd been the one who'd taught her how to read, who'd understood the girl's early genius and accepted it for what it was, he was the one who'd understood her even more than her parents. Edmund and Diana couldn't be faulted for this, of course— they had an entirely average view of the world that the other two members of their family didn't share and were thus the same side of two different coins.

The brunette girl was often the only one Edward would tolerate in his workshop as the tiny space was his own, personal area where Edmund and Diana weren't allowed. The little girl was glad of this because it was an almost magical place with the constant, steady rhythm of ticking clocks and the myriad of faces that displayed numbers in all different types of fonts. Dozens upon dozens of timekeepers were crammed in; tall grandfather clocks (two) stood in corners, old-fashioned alarm clocks (seven) sat strewn on several tables, special antique clocks with their own, individually-made parts that could only be replaced when made by hand sat in a neat row of ten on the back half of her uncle's desk.

Several pocket watches (eight) hung from the low ceiling to save space on the workbench and Uncle Edward's tools sat scattered in the only bare space remaining where he tinkered with clocks that people sent to him as gifts or to be returned. His desk sat snugly under one of three windows in the shop to allow dust light to stream into his work area as he sat in one of two wooden chairs that took up the remaining space. Lola sat in the other with her legs dangling far above the floor as she leaned against the man's arm to watch him work with the intricate parts of the antique that he currently held in his hands.

It was quite old with worn, dark wood and roman-numeral numbers from I to XII around the white face. The two spindly hands ended in fanciful, lacy points that were currently still and remained at IX for the hour hand and halfway between V and VI for the minute hand. The carvings on the wood depicted leaves and trees around the glass circle which reminded Lola of something from Narnia. The back was currently open to show the gears of the time piece as her uncle's steady hands poked around seemingly haphazardly— but they weren't. He was looking for something.

Most of the time, Lola could keep quiet and watch him work, as he preferred. Sometimes, Uncle Edward (for in this space he was never Uncle Ed) would tell her stories about where the clock came from or who had owned it in the past or why he was fixing it. Sometimes, he would tell her theories he had about the world or how time worked, or what he thought about certain things. While he favored quiet, the conversations they had in this space were always surprisingly intellectual, even for a four-year-old. Lola liked that he talked to her as an adult and knew that she understood more than the usual kids her age.

"Can you tell me a Multiverse story again, Uncle Edward?" the girl asked tentatively, not sure if this was one of the 'quiet days'.

The man turned from his work and smiled at the brunette, his blue eyes— her blue eyes— soft and ocean-like as they mirrored his expression. "Of course. Which one would you like to hear?"

"The Soul Machine one," the girl requested hopefully.

"You always want to hear that one," Uncle Edward said with a laugh.

"That's 'cause it's my favorite." Perhaps she did retain some of her four-year-oldness.

"Very well," the man sighed, "as you know, there are an infinite amount of parallel universes, all with different storylines. Some only have one change from the one we currently live in, some are completely alien to us. No matter the size of the differences though, they are all a shade off from ours. The Soul Machine takes place in one of these." He paused for a minute as his fingers wedged between the delicate gaps in the gears to test their fluidity. 

"Once there was a boy," he began, "he was very lonely for despite his large family, he felt unloved and ignored. He had no friends and no one quite understood him for he was far smarter than any one of his siblings."

"How many did he have?" the girl asked as she always did.

"He was the fifth in the family of seven, which didn't count his father. While he cared for these siblings, he had no idea how to show love for it was never shown to him. So, instead of treating them kindly, he mocked them and belittled their intellect in order to protect himself from any hurt he might feel should they reject his offer of kindness. His attitude isn't to be blamed, though. Circumstances in his upbringing lead him to be like this and after a while, he ran away from his family."

"Why?"

The man sighed as he picked up a slim screwdriver to fix one of the stuck gears. "He felt that they were squandering his potential, that he could be far more successful than they were letting him be. So, he left. He ran and ran and ran and never looked back. The boy was right— he did have potential and lots of it. He became invested in the business he created and grew to be a prosperous young man. The loneliness never left him, though. Despite his success and his financial security, he had no companion to share his life with. He found his employees dull and boring and anyone else he met far below par."

"What did he do about it?"

"Well," her uncle began. He put down the screwdriver and picked up a pick to free the gears. "Nothing at first. He thought the feelings would go away. He had always been able to hide what he truly felt so he didn't think there would be a problem. For the first time in his life, he was wrong. They didn't go away and he couldn't hide them. The loneliness began to take a toll on the boy— now a man. He didn't eat as much and got very little sleep. He pushed everyone away, which only made the feelings worse. Then, one day, a woman from an important organization came to him and promised that he would get world-renowned fame if he agreed to her contract."

"What did she offer him?" the brunette asked as she looked up at the man with wide eyes.

"An escape," was his reply, "a way to more easily hide the loneliness. Except he should have known to ask questions first before he signed the agreement. The woman's intentions weren't good and she wanted him to do unspeakable things. He did become famous— but infamous. She'd known of his vast connections to important business leaders and, in exchange for this fame, he would kill whoever she wanted him to. To the man's surprise, he did begin to feel better and after every kill, he felt a little less lonely."

"Was he a bad person, Uncle Edmund?"

"Bad? No, not really. There are no bad or good people in this world, Lola. Just people minding their business and going about their lives, just as he was. Had he asked the woman what the contract entailed, he might have thought twice about agreeing to it, but he hadn't and now this was the path his life was taking him."

"What about the Soul Machine?"

The older man chuckled lightly. "Patience, Word Shaker. An acorn does not grow into an oak overnight— I'm getting there. Now, in his travels for this woman's business, the man came across many people. Some of them bright, some of them dull, some of them his intended targets and some who just got in the way. One day, the woman sent him on a mission to rid the world of someone who would influence it negatively— an up-and-coming politician who seemed to have a heart of gold but had terrible intentions. This man was on his Sunday afternoon trip to the department store, as was his daily schedule. For his political campaign he often made it a point to help out struggling business that needed his patronage."

"Why were his intentions so bad?" the girl asked curiously, "especially if there aren't really good or bad people?"

"Intentions can be bad without the person having an affiliation with either side," her uncle corrected her, "he wanted to abuse his power and change the way the world worked, which would have hurt many people in the process. That is why our number five was assigned to kill him. Now, with his reputation secure in the organization, he would have no trouble with this assignment and he was successful. It was only when he was leaving the store did his life change for the better."

"Why?"

"A woman caught his eye. The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen with brilliant blue eyes, silky brown hair and soft, pink lips that smiled happily at him. It was only on second glance did he realize what she truly was: a mannequin."

"A mannequin?"

"Yes, a plastic woman had caught his eye. It was no surprise, seeing as he found everyone he knew incredibly dull. Despite her lack of life she seemed real enough to him, so he asked the store owner if he might purchase her. While the assassin felt odd at the thought of buying someone he viewed as human, the store owner agreed despite his puzzlement. He took her home to his apartment and began the process of getting to know her. Many people say he'd driven himself crazy due to his isolation but he never minded much what people thought. The mannequin was his perfect companion for she never interrupted him and could match his intellect, for all conversations came from him."

"Did he name her anything?" the girl asked.

"Yes, for he wanted to give her a human experience. For the mannequin's birthday, he decided to name her Dolores, after the sadness he felt when he thought of her never being truly human."

"That's my name!"

"Yes, it is," he agreed, "and something changed when he gifted her the name Dolores. Names are very powerful, Lola. You must be careful when giving a title to something for you will never know what the consequences will be when you do so. Now, the man naming the mannequin was such a heartfelt, human act of kindness— one that he had never shown before and one that she had never received— she became a human of sorts in return. She could feel things, hear what the man was saying, but she couldn't respond. She was plastic, after all, and it made her incredibly sad that she could never thank the assassin with the heart of gold for treating her as something— someone special. It became Dolores' greatest wish to talk to him just once."

"Did she ever get the chance to?" Lola asked hopefully. The man shushed her gently. 

"Now, the man and Dolores lived a mostly happy life together despite never truly conversing with each other. Dolores listened to everything he said and remembered it on the nights she felt most lonely. She'd grown to love him, after all, so keeping the memories close while he was away helped greatly. As for the man, the loneliness in his life vanished completely for he viewed Dolores as a very real person and was completely content with her in every way. Eventually, he grew old and the contract he'd signed with the woman ended, freeing his life from the restraints of killing and his soul recovered slowly from the years of torture he put on it."

"Did Dolores' love help him?" the brunette wondered.

"Yes, he talked to her about everything he was feeling and discussing it helped quite a lot. He even tried reaching out to his family at her suggestion but they hadn't forgiven him for running away all those years ago. They were jealous, you see, because he'd left them in their cruel father's care and they believed he skipped out on all of the pain their so-called caretaker had put them through."

"So they didn't forgive him?"

"Unfortunately they didn't. Our number five made an effort to be unaffected but Dolores could see how it saddened him that his siblings didn't understand that he'd been trying to protect them. Everything he'd worked towards— stable finances, even killing people— had been to try and free his family from their father's grasp. He couldn't find the words to explain this and so the animosity between him and his siblings grew so that they stopped talking to each other for good."

"Oh no!"

"Oh no indeed," Edmund agreed solemnly, "for had they been a proper family, they could have protected their brother."

"Protected? Why?"

"Well, the woman was also jealous of her assassin. She'd fallen in love with him over the years and had hoped to earn or force his affections for her. She'd even allowed Dolores to remain, thinking that her assassin would soon realize she wasn't enough and would want a real woman. Because this had never happened and she was very petty, she sent her own assassins after our number five to kill him."

"But he was old!"

"Yes. Despite him being arguably one of the best assassins the organization ever produced, he was old and though he posed no threat, the other employees were more afraid of the woman than they were of him. They set their plan of killing an old man into action. When they burst into his apartment with loaded guns to finish the job, he was prepared because he'd known how the woman thought. Even with his age, he was able to take down his assailants quickly and without much bloodshed, saving both his life and Dolores'. Of course, this attempt on him made the man very angry but without the vitality he once had, he was no match for the woman."

"What did he do, then?"

"He waited. He knew the evil woman well enough that she would come after them herself since her first plan hadn't worked. And she did come for them. She came with two of her best assassins as well— though not as good as the man himself— and watched the fight unfold. Our number five was gravely injured by one of them which weakened his ability to protect himself and Dolores. He was still able to subdue his attackers which left just him and the woman he'd once worked for."

"Did he live?" Lola asked, worried.

"He survived the first fight, yes. Unfortunately, he was not strong enough to defend himself against the woman and became the easiest target she'd ever had. Now, Dolores had been sitting on the couch this whole time and had watched everything happen before her, longing to be of some help to her beloved assassin. All she could do though was hope and pray that he'd make it out alive which frustrated her to no end. Dolores knew that if she could fight, if she could move, she'd be of great help to him. She'd never been scared when she saw him in action and always wanted to be his partner."

"What about the evil woman?"

"Well, now that our number five was weakened from combat and unable to defend himself, she raised her pistol to his chest. There was nothing he could do to block the shot and believed that this was the end of his life. He'd fought for so long and had been so strong that he felt this was the end he deserved, especially after killing all of those people. The only movement came from his eyes, which slid to where Dolores was sitting on the couch. As the woman's finger moved to the trigger, the assassin thought one final thing: I love you. He'd always told Dolores that, had always felt that for her, but there was something different, more powerful about this time."

"What was different?"

"Dolores thought it back," Uncle Edmund answered simply, "she and our number five had always just missed each other on this sort of thing, but in this moment, the two of them thought I love you at the same time. There is powerful magic in love for it can inspire many things. Plays and books, inventions, discoveries, awe-inspiring musical numbers, or, more simply, life. And from this life, Dolores suddenly drew her first breath. She was no longer just a vessel, no longer just a thing with feelings, she was—"

"More than a soul machine," Lola finished, as she always did.

"Yes. She still wasn't quite human but she was closer than she had ever been, and the most impressive thing was that she could move. Dolores wasted no time in standing from the couch and saving her beloved's life. Without hesitation, she grabbed the woman's wrist to change the direction of the pistol from our number five's chest to her own. The woman had always been trigger-happy and the surprise of this sudden development caused her finger to tighten around the release. A single shot echoed in the apartment."

"No," the little girl breathed with wide eyes.

"Yes," the man sighed, "the single bullet fired directly in Dolores' chest, aimed at her heart. Her single act of love had cost her a lifetime, giving her only seconds of newly-earned life. The woman collapsed next to our number five. The evil woman smirked triumphantly. While her original goal had not been met, this was better than what she'd planned. Even Dolores' new life didn't surprise her— all she wanted was to put her assassin through the pain he had put her and this would be just as successful."

"Can he save Dolores?"

"Understandably, our number five was in shock from the sudden turn of events. He didn't know how Dolores was now alive but the sight of bright, red blood confirmed it. It was only when he registered the massive amount of blood escaping from her did he react. He pulled the fallen woman into his arms and cradled her gently. As strong as he'd always been, he could not stop the tears from falling as he sobbed into her wonderfully warm skin, feeling more pain in his chest than he would've felt if the woman had just shot him.

'I don't understand,' he sobbed against her, 'I always knew you were alive, but—'

'It was our love,' Dolores answered quietly, 'it brought me to life in that second. I love you, my beloved assassin. I always have and wanted to tell you so. Now my life's wish has been fulfilled.'

'I love you,' came the man's tearful answer, 'I'll save you, I promise. I'll make this right.'

'You can't reverse time, my love, and I wouldn't change my decision for the world. This was my decision as much as yours.'

'I can't live without you,' he pleaded, 'I'll find a way to fix this, I know I will. We'll find a way to be together.'

'I know you will,' Dolores agreed with a gentle smile. 'You've always been brilliant, darling. If anyone can find an answer it will be you.'

The man could see that she was getting tired and that her newfound light was fading from her eyes. 'Please don't go. I— I'll—'

'We'll meet again in our next life, my love,' Dolores whispered, 'perhaps you will be a time traveler and I will be a real girl. What an epic tale that would be.'

'I don't want—' he started fiercely, only to stop when he saw her breathe softly for the last time and her body relaxed in his arms."

Lola looked at her uncle with own teary eyes. "Is that it?"

"You know it's not, Word Shaker," her uncle said fondly, "when Dolores reached the afterlife, she was greeted by the one who'd made her wish come true— someone who granted her extra time."

"Do they control all time?"

"Yes," the man said, "they control all time. They are not a gendered being nor do they truly take form but they are generous when one deserves it, cruel when one doesn't and indifferent for those who fall in between. Dolores fell into the first category and they knew this. The woman had no intention of asking for more time as she was grateful for the amount that had been given to her— however brief. But they were not done with her yet. Her last and only act had been so selfless that, along with a council of other beings that controlled the universe, the Timekeeper had decreed that Dolores-the-mannequin (for she had no last name) and our number five would live as many lifetimes as necessary for each to meet the other in whatever form they would take to have the ending they deserved."

"Is that why I'm named Dolores?" Lola asked, "is there a number five out there for me?"

"Perhaps," her uncle said with a smile. "Though most say that this is just a wise tale."

"It is a very wise tale," the little girl answered with a grin. "I believe it's true," she sighed happily, "it's just so romantic, I love it."

"I know you do, Sequins." The change in nickname indicated her happy-go-lucky uncle was returning. "Alright, I'm almost done. We can head in a few minutes."