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The Lost Track of Time

Page 5

by Paige Britt


  up she went. The steam was thicker than expected and surprisingly easy to

  scoop up. Inside her mouth it swelled to twice its original size and then burst

  into a series of delicate flavors: savory cream sauce, then toasted cheese, and

  finally vanilla ice cream with a tinge of hazelnut.

  Neither of them said a word until the last bit of soufflé was gone. When

  they were finished, they sat down on their chairs with heavy sighs.

  “That was amazing,” said Penelope.

  Dill let out a lavender-colored burp. “Thank you. I came up with the idea

  to make a soufflé so light you could only eat the steam, but I had the hardest

  time figuring out the recipe. The steam kept turning into soup in midair and

  causing the worst soggy mess. Or the soufflé was too light and only a mist

  would form. Have you ever tried to eat mist?”

  Penelope shook her head.

  “Well, I can tell you, it was a disaster. Failure. Total flop.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I just kept moodling. I came up with hundreds of ideas. Most of

  them were too small, but I kept at it and after a while I moodled up a

  few big ones. With some tinkering, I turned those big ideas into real

  possibilities and from there I created my masterpiece — the lightest soufflé

  in the world!”

  A faraway look crossed Dill’s face and he stared past Penelope into a

  memory only he could see. “That was years ago. Years . . . and years . . . long

  before moodling was declared illegal . . .”

  “What exactly is moodling?” interrupted Penelope, who was itching to

  add the word to her collection.

  Dill leaned in as if sharing an important secret. “Moodling is daydream-

  ing, letting your mind wander, losing track of time, and, in the most severe

  cases” — here he mouthed the words — “doing nothing.”

  Penelope’s mouth dropped open. She did these things every chance she

  could! So did Miss Maddie! “What’s so bad about letting your mind wander

  and . . . and . . . doing nothing?” she asked.

  “I say, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of moodling — you come up with

  the most interesting ideas that way. But you can only do it if Chronos isn’t

  around. If he sees you, he’ll send the Clockworkers to snatch you up and take

  you to the tower just like that.” Dill snapped his fingers.

  “Clockworkers!? Tower?” Penelope’s voice was a high-pitched squeak.

  “I can see it’s time to tell you the story of the Great Moodler.” Dill looked

  around the room quickly, as if they might not be alone. Once he seemed

  satisfied that no one was around, he continued, “Listen closely, but whatever

  you do, don’t repeat a word. Your life just might depend upon it.”

  the story of the great moodler

  Once upon a time, so long ago I don’t remember when, the Great Moodler

  was known far and wide for being exactly that — a great moodler. When most

  people moodle, they come up with a few ideas, but not the Great Moodler.

  She came up with real possibilities.

  First she would moodle on the smallest, faintest notion. Soon it would

  blossom into an idea. With constant moodling, her ideas took flight, soaring

  overhead and colliding with one another until sparks flew. From the sparks, her

  ideas caught fire, streaking into the sky and exploding with possibilities.

  In those days, possibilities fell to the ground like rain. Each one was a bril-

  liant bit of light, etched with a message. “It’s a possibility,” people would say

  whenever they found one and, if they liked what it said, they’d

  pop it into their mouths and chew on it. Everyone was full of

  possibilities in those days — full to the point of bursting.

  Most possibilities were quite ordinary, such as,

  Tomorrow it will rain. But some were intriguing and

  delicious, such as, There’s a man in the moon or You

  can fly. People loved these possibilities the most.

  Whenever someone discovered one, rather than chew

  chapter five

  on it, they would sit right down and consider it. When they did, the possibility

  would grow. Sometimes it grew a little bit and sometimes a lot, but on the

  average most possibilities were about the size of a watermelon.

  One night the Great Moodler had trouble sleeping. She got out of bed and

  stared up at the stars, moodling on the mysteries of life. When she did, a tiny

  possibility began to take shape. Even though it was very small, it was brighter

  and more beautiful than anything ever seen. It was like a sliver of the sun — so

  dazzling the night around it turned to day.

  When the possibility took flight, people woke from their dreams and

  rushed outside to see what it was. They stared up in awe at the brilliant

  possibility, waiting for it to fall to the ground so they could consider it. But

  instead of falling, it streaked across the heavens like a meteor and disappeared

  from view.

  Everyone was crushed. What was this possibility? What did it say? The

  very next day, explorers set out to find it. Because it was lost in some distant

  land, they called the treasure they were seeking the Remote Possibility. For

  years explorers trudged across deserts, slogged through swamps, and hacked

  their way through jungles, but the Remote Possibility was never found. One by

  one the explorers gave up their search and the Remote Possibility moved from

  memory into legend.

  One explorer, though, never gave up. He climbed up the highest

  mountains and down the deepest valleys in all four directions. When the

  Remote Possibility remained hidden, he searched harder and farther, traveling

  into the forgotten corners of the world.

  One day while tramping through a rocky wasteland, surrounded by noth-

  ing but the dust and debris of a long-dead volcano, the explorer saw a glimmer

  on the ground up ahead. He was hungry and thirsty and his vision was blurred

  from exhaustion, but the light refused to fade. Was it a mirage? Or had he finally

  found what he’d been searching for?

  Anything is possible, he told himself and pushed on toward the light. As he

  drew closer, the faint glimmer became a glow.

  Anything is possible, he said again, putting one exhausted foot in front of the

  other. The light grew brighter still, turning the pebbles in its shadow into

  diamonds.

  Once the treasure was finally within reach, the explorer bent down to

  pick it up. When he did, he let out a cry. For etched in the light were his very

  own words!

  Anything is possible.

  The explorer knew his search was over — the Remote Possibility had

  been found. He set off for home immediately, carrying his discovery with him.

  When he reached the border of the wasteland, he met a group of travelers. He

  shared the Remote Possibility with them, and as he did, the possibility began to

  grow. This in and of itself wasn’t strange — that’s what possibilities did. The

  strange thing was how much it grew. And grew. And grew. In just a matter of

  moments, it was the size of a bush, then a boulder.

  “I can’t believe it!” said one of the travelers.

  “Anything is possible, I suppose,” said another. And they all had to agree


  it was true. The proof was right in front of them.

  By now the Remote Possibility was much too big for the explorer to carry,

  so he sent the travelers for help. But when help arrived, they had never seen a

  possibility so large and immediately began to consider it themselves. Of course,

  when they did, it grew even larger. Soon it was the size of a hill.

  Word spread rapidly, and more and more people flocked to the wasteland.

  “Anything is possible,” they would say when they saw the glittering mound of

  light. Up, up, up! The Remote Possibility grew bigger still until it was taller

  than the tallest mountain and wider than the sea.

  By now the possibility was so large that people began to wonder what to

  do with it. Should they climb it? Dance around it? Chip it into pieces? They had

  no idea, but they knew someone who would — the Great Moodler.

  The Great Moodler was a very gifted problem solver. It didn’t matter if it

  was a big problem (like how to build a bridge to a rainbow) or a little problem

  (like how to catch a cricket), the Great Moodler would come up with a solution.

  But when she saw the Remote Possibility, even she was overwhelmed.

  She moodled all day and all night. Hundreds of tiny notions streamed

  from her head and ideas bounced back and forth, but no real possibilities formed.

  So she moodled away the next day and the next night, too. Finally, after a week

  of almost constant moodling, a big idea began to take shape. Everyone held their

  breath, watching as she turned the idea this way and that. Suddenly it spun into

  the air and exploded with possibilities. The crowd cheered and the Great

  Moodler stood to announce her solution.

  “This is what you must do with the Remote Possibility . . .” she shouted.

  The crowd grew silent, waiting for the answer.

  “Live with it!”

  Everyone was stunned. This wasn’t the answer they were expecting. But

  the more they considered it, the more it made perfect sense. The Remote

  Possibility was so wonderful, so beautiful, they should build their lives around

  it. And that’s what they did.

  The Great Moodler quickly built a home on top of the gleaming mountain

  of light. She named the land in all four directions the Realm of Possibility. At

  the foot of the mountain, the people created a city that was beautiful beyond

  belief. The buildings were curvaceous and fanciful and went straight up into the

  clouds. The roads were long and winding and always followed the scenic route.

  People planted fruit trees along the highways to encourage musing and munch-

  ing on the way to Wherever.

  The city sat on one side of the Remote Possibility and the wasteland where

  it had been found sat on the other. The wasteland, however, was no longer a

  wasteland. The rocks and boulders bloomed in the light of the Remote Possibility

  and became grand mountains in their own right. But these mountains were no

  ordinary mountains. Instead of being brown or gray, like you might expect, they

  were blue, orange, green, pink, yellow — every color of the rainbow! People

  called them the Range of Possibilities and climbed their heights to reach the sun.

  The Realm was a peaceful, beautiful place until one day a stranger came

  walking down the road. He carried nothing with

  him except a mysterious black book and a gold

  pocket watch. His name was Chronos and he

  had come to the Realm to make his mark.

  Chronos immediately built himself a

  giant home made of concrete and

  steel. He called his

  home, which was

  really more of a fortress, the Timely Manor.

  It held twenty-four rooms, one for each

  hour in the day. The rooms were dark

  and windowless and filled with ticking

  clocks. The outside walls were topped with

  a parapet where grim-faced Clockworkers marched day and night. No one knew

  exactly where the Clockworkers had come from, but one thing was sure —

  they lived to serve their master.

  The Manor surrounded a central courtyard from which a tremendous

  clock tower rose. The tower had four clocks — one for each direction of the

  compass. Chronos was a proud man and he soon became jealous of the Great

  Moodler’s place of importance. He believed the Realm was overrun with use-

  less daydreamers and the Remote Possibility was nothing but a silly notion. He

  would often stand on the parapet and read aloud from his black book, shouting

  down to the people in the streets below. The book was filled with time-saving

  tips and words to live by, but most people ignored them. This made Chronos

  furious, so he came up with a plan.

  In those days, the clock tower was a novelty, and no one paid it much

  mind. Everyone was too busy moodling to keep track of time. And why should

  they? There was time enough for everyone. People took as much as they needed

  and never worried about wasting it. Many had time to spare and would share it

  with anyone who asked. “There’s no present like time,” they’d say and give away

  minutes, hours, even days to those in need.

  Chronos changed all that. Every day he ordered his Clockworkers to wind

  the clocks in the tower and every day, time would run out. People began to

  watch the clock, first out of curiosity and then in alarm. Time was slipping

  away. Soon people began to fight among themselves. “Take your time. Leave

  mine alone!” they argued. Neighbors accosted neighbors, demanding borrowed

  time back. What little time was left at the end of the day was heavily guarded

  lest it be stolen. It didn’t take long before people turned to Chronos for answers.

  They gathered at the Manor and demanded an explanation. “Where has all the

  time gone?”

  Chronos was prepared. “I’ll tell you where it went,” he roared, pointing

  to the Great Moodler’s home on top of the Remote Possibility. “It’s being wasted

  by that useless Moodler and by you!” This time he pointed an accusing finger at

  the crowd. “You are killing time with all your moodling. If you want more

  time, you must do as I say. Immediately!”

  This got everyone’s attention. “Killing time!” they said to one

  another. “How horrible. This must stop at once!”

  They listened closely as Chronos explained

  his plan: “The more possibilities you

  consider, the less likely you are

  to accomplish anything. And

  the fewer things you

  accomplish, the more time you waste. Therefore, the quickest way to make the

  most of your time is to limit the possibilities.” The people looked up at the clock

  tower in alarm. Sure enough, Chronos was right. Time was running out. There

  wasn’t a minute to waste!

  Chronos appointed twelve of his most efficient Clockworkers to a

  Committee devoted to making every second count. The first thing

  the Committee did was visit the Great Moodler and demand she stop coming

  up with new possibilities. “We have quite enough already!” they scolded her.

  Next they decided to consider the possibilities they did have and throw

  out the ones that were a waste of time. After sifting through millions and

  millions of possibilities, they came up wit
h a master list of 3,763. They passed

  an amendment to change Anything is possible to 3,763 things are possible.

  But they didn’t stop there. Even that wasn’t enough to save time, so they

  limited the possibilities even further, and as they did, the list became smaller . . .

  2,631

  . . . and smaller . . .

  1,612

  . . . and smaller . . .

  497

  . . . and smaller still . . .

  Until it was decided: 217 things are possible.

  Anything struck from the list was deemed “Impossible” and declared

  illegal. Chronos established a court to prosecute time wasters and turned the

  clock tower into a prison. With only 217 things possible, everyone knew

  exactly what they were supposed to be doing and when.

  In gratitude for his efforts to save time, the Committee named the great

  city at the heart of the Realm after their leader. They called it Chronos City.

  Before long, the City outgrew its borders. As it grew bigger and bigger, it grew

  uglier and uglier. The Clockworkers shaved the ornamentation off the

  buildings, cut down the trees, and straightened the roads — all in the interest

  of efficiency.

  The odd thing was, however, that no matter how much time people saved,

  there never seemed to be enough left over. The more things got done, the faster

  time ran out. Whether people were winding up or winding down, the clocks in

  the tower were always ticking. Soon the Realm was full of clocks. People

  carried them in their pockets, wore them on their wrists, and hung them on

  every wall. Before long, everyone’s internal clock — the clock that told them

  when to do things in their own time — was completely drowned out.

  “There’s no such thing as an internal clock,” scoffed Chronos. “Has anyone

  actually ever seen one?” People had to admit that no one ever had, whereas the

  clocks in the tower were undeniably real. Before long, people stopped even try-

  ing to check their internal clocks. They doubted they had ever had such a thing.

  As doubt took hold in their minds, a dark Shadow gathered in the sky. At

 

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