The Bottle Never Fell
The Earth had just started the thirteenth hour of its revolution around the sun this day. The Christ had been born 1994 years ago.
Your hair was neatly wrapped in the rubber band, except for one lock that escaped it and glided gracefully on one side of your face. The flour covered your blue apron and the long fingers of your hand. Your head tilted towards me with a smile that disappeared as fast as it made its first appearance. Horror abruptly colored your face, as your hands unintentionally pushed the bottle from its place on the verge of the table.
The bottle never fell. Its fragments never covered the floor. The milk in it never varnished our kitchen floor. We never ate that cake. The Earth never completed its rotation around the Sun.
We managed to rebel on the rigid rules of time; steal one second of it and make it forever ours. Somewhere, everything remained unchanged; frozen.
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