Time isn't relative

March 4, 2011
By Becca Campbell BRONZE, Allen, Texas
Becca Campbell BRONZE, Allen, Texas
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

My name is Derrick Ginsberg. I am eleven years old, but I don’t know how long I’ve been eleven. I live in Washington Springs, Texas. I can’t tell you the date. The thing about where I live is that time passes differently. Nobody else notices, but it goes slower here. Sometimes, the days repeat themselves. I’ve tried to tell people, but they almost always think I’m joking. Even when I do get someone to believe me, the next day is a repeat and they don’t remember.

I’ve done tests, too. I’ve written on my arms in sharpie, cut chunks out of my hair, even hurt myself on purpose, but the next day, everything is normal again. Clean skin, normal hair, wounds healed. It’s a black hole. I keep telling myself that I won’t get sucked in, but I’ve never done anything about it. At least, not until tonight.

Tonight, I’m going to leave. I’m going to take a bag, and get as far away as possible. I can’t stand to live here any longer.

As I walked into my house, my mom immediately swooped down on me. If there was one reason to stay, it was my mom. She’s honestly the nicest woman on earth, the type of mom to have fresh cookies waiting when friends come to visit. But, in the blink of an eye, she can become the strictest woman on earth. She doesn’t approve of imagination, so she’s the first to scold me if I try to convince her that our town is a time trap.

She took my backpack for me and gave me a hug, asking how my day went. I replied with short answers, my mind really on what I should pack in my bag and what I should leave behind. She released me to do my homework, and I immediately went to my room. But instead of pulling out my worksheet, I pulled a duffel bag out from under my bed. Inside was a couple pairs of jeans and a few t-shirts, a jacket, and some chips and poptarts I had stolen from the cupboards the night before. I quickly threw in a pocket knife and some money. I was ready to go as soon as it was night time. When my mom went into her bedroom, I opened up my window and climbed out, easing it shut behind me.

The one perk of being the only one who has a whole lot of extra time on their hands is that I know my way around the city after countless hours of ‘exploring’. I was able to navigate around, getting closer and closer to the city limits, when all of a sudden…

“Hey, kid! What are you doing out so late?” A man I recognized only as the manager of the grocery store called out. I sighed and hoped to God that my lying skills were up to par.

“That’s just it, mister! I’m heading home now!” I replied, backing away slowly.

“Why do you have such a big bag?” There was a long silence as I tried to make an excuse. Finally, I came up with one.

“I’m in hockey, and this carries all my equipment. I’m actually coming back from practice right now.” The man frowned.

“Son, it’s getting pretty late, I don’t want a boy like you walking around alone. Do you want a ride home?”

“My mom told me not to accept rides from strangers!” I yelled, before running away as fast as I could. Soon enough, I saw a sign in the distance.

Washington Springs welcomes you!

The sign grew larger as my excitement grew. That sign was at the city limit. Soon enough I would be out of there. I was so close, I found myself grinning in anticipation. I was almost there…

I froze. Headlights were blinding me. I couldn’t get out of the way in time. Suddenly, there was a huge pain in my chest, and then…

My name is Derrick Ginsberg. I am eleven years old, but I don’t know how long I’ve been eleven. I live in Washington Springs, Texas. I can’t tell you the date.

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