Author: Hillary Lyon

Lo’e took the small box from the cluttered shelf in the back of his workroom. The metal cube was soldered together from mismatched pieces of metal. Once shiny, it was now dull and dust-covered. He weighed it in his hand; he was surprised at how lightweight it felt, how empty. Lo’e set it down on his workbench.

He grabbed a rag and began to wipe the dust away. Rubbing with a bit of pressure, he succeeded in bringing the shine back. It was like polishing silver, teasing the luster out of the tarnish. In the cool light of his desk lamp, it was a thing of beauty. He’d almost forgotten that.

He took the box upstairs to show his wife.

* * *

“You still have that old thing?” Cossi said, wrinkling her brow. I thought you tossed it out when we moved.”

“What? No.” Lo’e replied. “It goes where I go.” She had no idea what the box did; she thought it was a souvenir of some sort. It was a chronophage: a time-eater.

“Whatever,” his wife muttered. She returned to her tablet. The blue glow from it’s screen exaggerated the lines around her eyes and mouth. To Lo’e, she looked like she was wearing the mask of an old crone. He knew he didn’t look any better. When young, his wife had been a beauty. When they wed, he was the envy of all his friends. She was sweet and supportive back then, too. Now all that was tarnished with dreary familiarity and routine.

He set the box on the table beside her. She ignored him, pretending to be absorbed in reading the latest celebrity news; in truth, she was annoyed he was dredging through the detritus of their lives packed away on the shelves in his workroom. She went to bed without bothering to make dinner.

Lo’e moved to her chair, sighed and picked up the box.

If I recall correctly, he thought, there’s a switch—no, a button to push—to turn this thing on.

He ran his thin knobbly fingers over the surface of the device, feeling for an anomaly. He found it. A tiny node, no bigger than a pullov seed. Grinning, Lo’e pressed it.

* * *

Next morning, Cossi found Lo’e still seated in her chair. Smiling. The device on the table beside him hummed. On closer look, she saw the thing shimmered and shivered in the morning light; it was so beautiful she felt compelled to draw closer, to touch it. As she neared, the box opened like a hinged jaw. Curious, she moved her fingers into that odd metal mouth. It bit her.

She didn’t scream, didn’t attempt to retract her hand, because it didn’t hurt. Cossi felt as though something was being drained from her, something unclean and thick and sluggish. She looked to Lo’e. He appeared…younger. Like he had when they’d first met. She put her free hand to her face. Her own deep wrinkles were gone; her skin was taught and smooth. Like when they’d first met.

Sated, the chronophage device stilled and opened. She removed her fingers. Laughing, Lo’e rose from the chair and took her hand. They both felt so light, so airy; they were once again translucent, like glass washed clean of years of grime. As they danced and swirled to the song now emanating from the device, their gliding feet gleamed like polished silver.