The Game at Carousel: Book Four Stubs July 17th (Arc II Chapters 1- 85)

I shut the camera off for this time jump.

We had already described what we were going to do, and frankly, it was possible that our entire detour to the hospital would get cut from the final film. So I didn't really see it as important to be filmed.

I was also tired. So very tired.

While we had technically had a night's sleep, in theory, it had not been a full night. Time moved forward as Carousel deemed fit, and while we had some breaks, I had never rested my mind.

So, as we slid through time with my camera off, I could focus on nothing but watching the infinite shores of time.

Once my brain was able to comprehend what was going on beyond the kaleidoscope and start to see the overall structure of everything around me, I started to see the true beauty—and ferocity—of the network of timelines we were a part of.

I was mentally drained. And in pain. And numb.

I just stood still, opened my eyes, and stared at Infinity.

Until it stared back.

I couldn't describe to you what it looked like. I could feel my brain seeking to comprehend it, to reduce it down into dimensions of height and width, to describe its shape, its color. But it didn't have any of those things.

Time was time.

Time contained all of the scary things—and the endings of all the good things.

Time contained serial killers and hopeless college kids.

Time contained blood and despair.

Time contained haunted scarecrows and mutated bedbugs.

Time contained a little boy who saw the reflection of a dark figure in a TV screen and thought it was his father.

Time contained no happy endings.