It occurred to me that I should conceive of a monster that ate time. Regretfully that monster does exist, and is indescribable.

It wanders, consuming mouth-sized portions as often as possible, incessantly shitting out disconnected, mal-formed moments to which it attaches no meaning - detritus strewn across the cosmos.

The notion of such a monster is a fine one! It was my own. Such a monster epitomizes the desires and fortitude of every person. He has no fate and no concern for destiny - he consumes endings and beginnings whereas we are consumed by them.

Space is infinite and void, but time is similar. It has scale and dimension, but it cannot be explored save for a unitary path we are relegated to. My monster has no such path but for the one he sets for himself. His meanderings intersect with our own and…

On one fine day you are walking through the backyard gardens, but that is now gone, replaced with the more sinister reality of a lapse. You have checked yourself into a hospital, doubting your own sanity for where did the time go?

You die an old man on the dirty steps of your wretched fortune, but even that moment is erased, discombobulated and shat onto another time line. How could you have existed if you did not die but are not alive?