it’s the 19th century.  in our heavy cotton white night gowns i check my sister’s hair and see bugs in it.  if her hair has bugs, then mine does too.  i put her to bed and go look at myself in the mirror.  the lantern behind me makes the mirror dark.  i’m not at all surprised to see my antlers, they’ve grown in nicely.  but i am surprised to see the silver hairs standing straight up, taller than the rest of my short hair. i look like some silvery pale fae creature with the light source behind me.
in the field outside of school.  it’s maybe 1920s or 1930s now.  i’m a high school aged boy throwing a football with a friend.  the grass is the dark green of a wet summer.  he tells me that his sister is still in labor.  still?! i ask him.  she needs to see a doctor!  she needs to have the baby!  he says he can’t call for the doctor. he tells me that it’s my fault.  “you’re the one that’s making time stand still! you have to be the one to start it again!” and i know he’s right.