We say a lot of things about time. That you can't outrun it, that it heals all wounds... You know, flowery shit like that. Truth is a bit less interesting, though. You see, time doesn't care; not about you, or anyone, or anything. It has one job, and that is to march ever on. So, what do you think happens when we try to control it? To force it to stop, speed up, or turn right around? Does it get mad? Does it laugh in our faces? Or does it march ever on, utterly uncaring for all the best-laid plans that are crushed under chitin and