Father Thomas Seymore closed his Bible and crawled into bed.
His wife had passed away years ago, yet he still missed her. He tried getting a smaller bed, but it made no difference.
His sleep was a void, dark and absolute. But tonight, this void dropped him off in a new galaxy.
This galaxy was full of gods. Mr. Seymore watched as a woman approached him.
Except she wasn't a woman, not really. They had the hourglass figure, but there was something about them that radiated masculinity.
"Who are you?" Thomas asked, watching the god in awe.
"I am Father Time," the god said. Their voice was deep and rich, like 89% cacao chocolate.
"Ah, yes, I forgot how you humans still cling to your obsession with gender. Here, does this make you more comfortable?" Time waved their hand, and suddenly they were a man, with a long grey beard and golden robes, the color of sand.
"What am I doing here?"
"Oh, I have no idea. Mortals come here ever so often, in their dreams, maybe in comas, or on their deathbed. This is a space between realities."
"Oh," Father Seymore said as if he understood, although he really didn't at all.
"But since you are here, let me teach you something."
Father Time— Thomas had an easier time calling them that in this form— grabbed Father Thomas's wrist.
Thoughts came to him in broken waves.
Time is fluid, child.
Love is fluid.
Life is fluid.
Our existence on this world, fluid.
Gender is fluid.
We wax and wane, we come and go.
Time. With Time, everything Changes.
Two fathers. Time, and Space.
Two mothers, the Earth and the Sky.
Two parents, Chaos and Order.
Tell me, is it not natural?
This is as natural as it gets,
Reducing ourselves to the most primal of thoughts.
We reach down into ourselves and pull out our feelings,
Hang them on strings.
Tell me, Father (which one of us are we talking to?)
Is it time to change our ways?
Time, Thomas, Father, Father.
We are one and the same.
And so Father Thomas Seymore found himself flirting with Time. Dancing with their hourglass figure, yet knowing that their figure was just a manifestation of his own desire. Time has no form, no fact. Time is fluid.
Time is fluid.
Father Thomas felt himself becoming fluid, melding with Time. They are one and the same. That is when he realized why Time is fluid. Time is a melting pot, full of drippings of lives, collections of memories and millenia. Time is all of us. When we die, our minds are lost to Time.
Father Thomas found himself becoming Father Time, found himself becoming Fluid, and he found himself Changing, and he found himself dying in the most pleasant of ways.
Because when you flirt with Time, Time might just flirt back.
And if Time flirts back, you might find your mind added to the melting pot.
We are fluid here. Fluid in this dance of melting ice, of dripping space, of soaking thoughts.
We are Fluid.