Marine Time

There was no entity he comprehended better than the ocean.
On most days, it was a painted plain of bored ripples, matching the expression he stroked masterfully on his face each and every morning. Tireless; calm; diligent. It cascaded gently over belligerent covens of rocks and eventually cut them sharp- not unlike his own cheekbones- working in quiet serenity. One day, its relentless chipping on the rugged rocks would pave for its tongue a path over a pleasurably smooth surface. And then, it would know- its work had incited the change it strove for.
But like all things, it could not always hide the truth behind its efforts.
When tempests slashed the waves and whitecaps belched portentous tidings of foreboding, he felt as though he were staring into an inverted mirror. Those cantankerous storms were a perfect reflection, a glimpse of what squirmed anxiously on the throne of his heart. No matter how much the sea wanted to grope past the law of time, it could never erode the stubborn tumors of stone faster. The bouts of rage would fizzle for a while, but always, the sea would return to its passive acceptance, and the inner turmoil again would hibernate.

Years he had worked to find the way. For there had to be one, didn't there? A trace of historical trends asserted that an epidemic could only last so long. Someone would step up, and like an angel delivered from heaven, present the solution to a viral demon horde. It was possible. And despite the glass shards of past pains that hung from mere threads above his dreams, lying in wait to silence his spirit, he was sure that he was going to be the one to do it.

Yet, his truest enemy was a master of disguise. Unseen, his opponent was clever, and it played chess well- sending out pawns and bishops to distract him from its king's advances. It wasn't the disease itself, or the biting words of his father when he was cast away from home, or the corrupt government that made that an option in the first place, or the death that stalked his family name, or the manipulation he suffered at the hands of those he dared to love, or even the girl that sought out the secret to his lab. No- it was a much more powerful contender, and his ignorance of it cost him everything.

He was compelled to open his eyes; they fell astutely on his watch.
Tick...Tick...Tick.
The sound of waiting for a bomb to burst in your face.

His vision was glassy as he looked past his mortal enemy and reluctantly pulled himself away from the woman whose kiss he had longed to sample again. A strange earthy taste was swimming through the valleys of his tongue, and he knew.
Something was wrong.
Two shaking fingertips brushed his lips, and when he drew them back, he found the unmistakable iron he tasted had stained them bright red. His eyes flashed to the woman just as a horrible choking noise scratched at her throat.

“Felicity,” he breathed out, and a drop of blood splashed across the gold band on his left hand. He wiped his mouth furiously and twisted his body to support her as she fell back into his arms. She moaned, her red hair mopping up the liquid seeping from her lips, and he tugged her closer. “Oh no,” he stammered, his voice rising to a desperate cry. “NO!”

Felicity said nothing. In disbelief he watched her crumple into herself, her bright blue eyes finding no purchase in sight. They closed; then opened, then closed again, like shutters heaving in a hurricane. It seemed to last forever until finally, her regard landed squarely on the small object he still held in his right hand.
It was a syringe, and her gaze, a finger.
An accusatory finger.

The color was sucked violently from his face. His heart began to squeeze out a clumsy, fumbling cadence, one that could scarcely be called a rhythm.

I did this.

As nausea and bile drowned his vocal chords, the sounds in the background grew sharper, louder. They were getting closer. Stealing a look over his shoulder, he swallowed roughly and stared at the door, her failing body convulsing in his arms. The ground beneath them shook with the clatter of footsteps.

Thud thud thud.
“Dillon Brozek, by order of the law, you are commanded to open this door!”

Knowing his fate if he did, Dillon didn't dare listen. His black bangs slapped his cheeks as he turned frantically back to Felicity, about to divulge into a frenzied plea for his fiancé's forgiveness.
But the words perished with the single movement of a finger. That same, accusatory finger.

Click.

He looked down, and the tip of a black barrel was trained on his heart.
The seams that had been holding him together began to rip. There was no sympathy in her features; only the harsh yoke of blame.
“Felicity...”
The burden on his chest became heavier.

He screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself against the white-hot hole of pain that would surely burn through his body- even if he was sure nothing could hurt him more than this. How fitting, for him to meet his end this way.
He waited. But the shot never came.
There was a final raspy wisp of disturbance in the air. The gun clattered to the ground, limp in her pale hand. Already he felt her corpse growing unnaturally cold.

As two trails of saltwater sluiced down his cheeks, the door was torn from its hinges, and he was baptized by a ground-shaking truth.

The sea could wail and scream and kick its churlish feet until it was blotched red in the face fighting the painstaking drip of erosion. It could dig its broken fingernails against stone with all of its soul. It could pound its fists until its knuckles were chaffed and littered with scabs. It could fight with its very existence to withstand the harsh constraints of time. But no matter how vigorously it labored, it would never fulfill its greatest desire- to show a person that its work was all worth it. To have someone stand on the shore and say, “Wow, you really did do it,” and pat it on the back, and see with their own two eyes the immense rocks that it had burned to sand.
No- to everyone else, it would look as if it had done nothing at all by the conclusion of a lifetime. No matter how hard it tried, it could never get that far.
Or at least...not nearly far enough to make any difference.

“What have you done?!” A voice shrieked. Dillon turned and observed the horrified expression of his formerly oblivious co-worker. Why couldn't she have stayed that way, for just a little longer? Struggling to his feet, he swayed to the ominous ticking of his watch. He opened his mouth to explain, but before a syllable came forward, a shot resounded through the air. With a heavy thud, Dillon smarted the ground and found himself staring directly into the lifeless eyes of his fiancé.

Checkmate.