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          ARRoGANT                CoURiERS      WiTH     ESSaYS

Grade Level:       Type of Work           Subject/Topic is on:
 [ ]6-8                 [ ]Class Notes    [Creative Story on       ]
 [x]9-10                [ ]Cliff Notes    ["A Passage of Time"     ]
 [ ]11-12               [x]Essay/Report   [                        ]
 [ ]College             [ ]Misc           [                        ]

 Dizzed: o4/95  # of Words:1482  School: ?              State: ?
ФФФФФФФФФ>ФФФФФФФФФ>ФФФФФФФФФ>Chop Here>ФФФФФФФФФ>ФФФФФФФФФ>ФФФФФФФФФ>ФФФФФФФФФ
                            A PASSAGE OF TIME

     "This has simply gone too far!" were the words that echoed menacingly
through Bradley's room, which was engulfed in an endless stream of
paperwork.  University life was not agreeing with Bradley the way he had
anticipated - his life, it seemed, had become little more than completing
one paper after another.  It wasn't that he was unhappy with what he was
studying, but he simply couldn't enjoy it the way he had enjoyed high
school.  Oh, how he wishes he could go back . . .

     After having yet another exhausting day of classes, Bradley found
himself needing to relax.  He appeared completely beaten as he lay his head
in his hands, contemplating the incredible amount of work he had to do over
the next several days.  Abruptly, he rose and began walking to the kitchen.
In his own, almost mechanical way, he opened the refrigerator, removed a
drink, carried it to the counter, opened it, removed the tab, placed the
tab in a recycling bag, took one small drink and returned to his waiting
seat in the bedroom.  These rituals and set patterns were something that
had always given Bradley a structure in his life, they had always
maintained themselves as an unwavering constant. But most importantly, they
were carried out slowly, and in the current times of speed and fast
results, it was very reassuring to be able to take time to go through the
routines which had been a part of Bradley's life for at least fifteen
years, now.

     Bradley savoured his drink, choosing to drink it very slowly, as if in
an attempt to slow down time.  Bradley tried again to put words to the
page, typing away furiously (certainly the ability to type over ninety
words per minute helps when you have to write as much as he does), but his
mind, usually clear when on task, was becoming muddled with concern for his
many other on-going projects.  His concentration slowly deteriorated and
even his fingers, which normally seemed to have minds of their own, slowed
to a dead stop.

     Bradley looked at the monitor and perused what he had just finished
writing.  Dissatisfied, he leapt out of his chair, and began, quite
uncharacteristically, into a completely spontaneous monologue:

     "Why is it that I can't seem to get ahead any more?  I mean, in high
school, it was all I could do to keep from being totally bored, and now -"
Bradley stared at the almost perpetual list of numbers printed on the
scattered pages of data strewn throughout his room.  "Now I can't get
caught up without getting buried in work the very same day!  This is
insane."

     With that, Bradley headed for the bathroom.  He leaned hopelessly
against the counter, and drew some cold water for his face.  He reached
into the medicine cabinet, withdrew a pill from his medicine bottle, and
swallowed it.  After a few seconds, he was calm.  He then washed his face
in the refreshing, spring-like water, and returned to his bedroom. With his
head down and eyes closed (by this time, he could map out the entire
apartment without looking) he mumbled, "I wish sometimes that I could just
slow everything down."

     Bradley strolled through the open door to his room and noticed that
his legs were a little heavy.  I must be getting tired, he thought. Bradley
went to retake his seat in front of the computer, and after quickly
rereading what he had already set down, he began typing again. Only this
time, he noticed that the keys were distinctly more difficult to press.
Not only that, but his fingers, which had once been light as feathers, felt
somewhat weighed down.  Convinced that he was growing increasingly tired
(and sluggish), he decided to get some sleep.

     Bradley didn't bother to prepare in the usual manner for bed, but
instead crawled into his comfortable, soft bed, removed his glasses and
reached over to his night table.  He removed his watch, and placed it next
to him.  "I'd better check the time and set an alarm, I don't want to knock
myself out for ten or twelve hours.  I have too much to -" Bradley stopped
in his tracks.  He had never seen anything like this before in his life,
and he wanted to make sure that it wasn't an illusion.

     Somehow, his watch had slowed down.  He wasn't sure how, but it had.
The seconds, which had always moved along at a fairly brisk pace, were
being counted very slowly now.  He proceeded to set the watch in
"stopwatch" mode for further investigation.  This time, the tenths-of-a-
second digits flashed by in an extremely readable fashion, while the
hundredths-of-a-second digits were not very difficult to distinguish. As
the time of day approached 2.00 pm, Bradley was not prepared for his
watch's hourly chime, and when he heard it, he was astonished.  Rather than
hearing a playful "beep", he heard a rather languid, deep buzzing sound, as
though someone had taken a record and played it at a slower speed . . .

     Was that it?  Bradley asked himself.  Has everything actually slowed
down, as per my request?  He rose out of bed as quickly as he could and
noticed that as he began to understand the situation, he felt progressively
less heavy.  It appears as though the effects that a time slow-down would
have on the rest of the world were escaping Bradley, himself.

     Bradley quickly ran outside and watched the normally swift traffic
move along at perhaps half the normal velocity.  The sounds of the motors
humming was deeper and more menacing than usual, but it was not something
that was completely impossible to adjust to.  Bradley also watched as a
couple, walking hand-in-hand on the sidewalk across the way, were strolling
at an unbearably slow pace.  Finally, Bradley turned to watch a leaf fall
from a tree in the distance.  Never before had he seen anything like this:
the leaf was taking *forever* to make its descent to the ground below!
"This is incredible!" Bradley shouted to no-one in particular.  He ran back
into his apartment, seated himself in his room and began to type away at
his keyboard.

     It took a while to get used to the new weight of the keys, but if it
meant having the chance to complete his assignments on time without worry,
he would make the necessary adjustments.  As Bradley fiercely hypothesized,
analyzed and evaluated his data, the monitor filled with intelligent
thought and logical progression as he continued on to complete what would
become a masterpiece of statistical analysis.  Fully satisfied with his
work, Bradley returned to the bathroom, took a deep breath, and grabbed his
pill bottle from the medicine cabinet.  After taking his medication, he
walked into the kitchen and planned to prepare dinner.

     As a means of testing out the new speed (or lack thereof) of things,
Bradley planned to create a huge meal, preparing several foods at the same
time.  Bradley knew that he alone had control over the passage of time, so
he had nothing to worry about.

     Being an avid viewer of one, particular cooking show, Bradley dusted
off his wok, amassed a small collection of cooking necessities and set out
to work.  He would make a small chicken dish, while at the same time
preparing vegetables, baking bread, slicing fresh fruits, whipping up cream
and baking a pie for desert.  Slower cooking times were something Bradley
saw as a drawback, but to his advantage, he could survey the progress of
each individual project much more studiously, which was to his liking.

     While he continued to prepare his feast, Bradley became increasingly
absorbed in his work, feeling like a true international chef whose mastery
of the kitchen was eclipsed by none.  By the time he knew what was
happening, it had been two hours since he had begun (and, naturally, for
his body, it seemed like much more time than that).  Just as Bradley went
to remove the bread from the oven, the impossible happened:  at the same
time, the wok and the pie caught afire.  Bradley scrambled around
mindlessly, searching for an extinguisher.  When he could not locate one,
he yelled, "I need time!  I wish things would just stop for a moment!"

     Just as those words escaped from his mouth, Bradley realized that in
all the commotion, he had forgotten to take his heart medicine.  He felt a
sharp pain at his chest and fell to the floor.  Unable to summon help, he
was powerless to stop his weak heart from failing, and himself from dying.

     Even if Bradley's fall had made a sound, there was no-one around to
hear it, for the echo had been trapped between instants, and the next
instant, as per his request, would never arrive.
