Eyes Journal 4

So Violet started to question Time.  Time, that unknown ghost with the long robes who roamed through the universe.  The omniscient being who slept in the tower like the sky without limits, and no ground.  When does Time require a boundary, and who can question him?  He sits in his floating throne which escorts history.  Sits vigilant and fierce throughout the years with his eyes on his hourglass, waiting for the sand to run the course.  Has sat there since there were things and places and affairs.  She may find a thread from his clothes sitting on her lap at any time.  She was alert and ready nonetheless.  Brave James!  He can't just suffer in silence.  She told Wallace stay with him , but James refused.  These spiritual healers were superb at helping the deathly ill, but they had never seen something like this before.  He'd turn out fine as long as the old, crooked tree determined why he was unwell.  He would not lay waste.  That was the verdict.  But Wallace suggested otherwise, and she was certain.  But if he didn't, later on she would find out, and stench would surround the body within the dark and erie room.  They would not have come unless he was not lying there, lifeless.  Sitting on the bed they loitered around the body.  A whisper, the robed ghost, had done the job.