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Fandom: originale
Titolo: scoopity poopity through time
Parole:189
Note: CoT9, M7
Time was always a strange thing, at least it had been before.
Humans used to think of it as a linear concept, from year to year, day after day, in a regular stream, like a calm river flowing to the sea.
The corgis knew better, they run through time, across space, over the gassy masses and frozen stars; they watched them dying and growing and glowing and dying again.
Time had been strange, minutes mixing with hours, hours looking like days, but now time had become a simple word related to points in space: they knew the when, every single time.
They were, after all the corgis of time.
«I think I just scoopity poopity somewhere in the eighteenth century» blurted Yellow, wagging her tail.
«Best gift from outer space» said Alexiel, nodding.
They kept strolling over the stars in that distant universe where time was flowing in every direction, like a lighting storm; the corgis were little, but they were strengthened by a solid conviction: whenever they went, someone, somewhere in time, in any time, would probably receive a surprise scoopity poop. And be happy (more or less).
Titolo: scoopity poopity through time
Parole:189
Note: CoT9, M7
Time was always a strange thing, at least it had been before.
Humans used to think of it as a linear concept, from year to year, day after day, in a regular stream, like a calm river flowing to the sea.
The corgis knew better, they run through time, across space, over the gassy masses and frozen stars; they watched them dying and growing and glowing and dying again.
Time had been strange, minutes mixing with hours, hours looking like days, but now time had become a simple word related to points in space: they knew the when, every single time.
They were, after all the corgis of time.
«I think I just scoopity poopity somewhere in the eighteenth century» blurted Yellow, wagging her tail.
«Best gift from outer space» said Alexiel, nodding.
They kept strolling over the stars in that distant universe where time was flowing in every direction, like a lighting storm; the corgis were little, but they were strengthened by a solid conviction: whenever they went, someone, somewhere in time, in any time, would probably receive a surprise scoopity poop. And be happy (more or less).
