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    ''What then is time? If no one asks me, I know: if I wish to explain it to one that asketh, I know not.'' - St. Augustine of Hippo and we do not steal this novel and post on Amazon pretending to be the author. The girl who could taste time is posted on royalroad.com author Lara Zanatti Reis


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    ''IT Service Desk, good morning! Nona Perenna speaking, how may I help you?''


    ''I wonder if you could. The time displayed on my screen is wrong, I tried several times to fix it, but it doesn''t change.''


    ''What OS do you use? Seven or ten?''


    ''Ten.''


    ''And you went through start, settings, time and language and then went to date and time? To change it, right?''


    ''Of course I did! I''m not a tech retard. I know how a bloody computer works! This is showing me 2021, 11th September, 9:50 am. And got stuck here! Listen, I have meetings to attempt today. With the client! I can''t fuck up my schedule because my computer thinks it is 2001!''


    Nona sipped on her coffee, trying to remain calm while feeling the soft rubbing of Schr?dinger''s fur against her legs. Meowing for her attention. The user was giving her a frustrating report on what he had already done to repair his paranormal issue on his device. His words. It was impossible for Nona to interrupt this user without sounding rude. The last thing she needed right now was another complaint about her strange call behaviour, but let''s be honest, it was not really her fault. ''Sir, I can remote on your PC and check it myself, see if I can help, if you allow me.''


    ''Yes, of course, that is why I….''


    An abrupt silence fell into the air. Her small home office was covered in muted sound as dust lay over the furniture surface. Not even the hammering sound of her keyboard could be heard. The cringing cold goosebumps on her skin were followed by the exhale of black particles between her dry lips. And finally, the sticky tastes of an overcooked steak covered in dusty sand. 17th December 2020, 8.11 am, Nona is about to witness a time event spill. In a fraction of a second, a breach of time would happen.


    ''Babe, my plane is being hijacked.'' Nona could hear behind the woman''s voice the rustling wind of a heavy machine. Deep voices were screaming incomprehensible words, and others were pleading for mercy. ''My plane is being hijacked. Babe, they are forcing their way into the cockpit. They forced their way into the cockpit. Babe, I called to tell you I love you. Tell the kids that I love them.''; the woman''s voice broke on the phone, crying her words in despair. The belonged to the flight attendant CeeCee Lyles, calling for the last time her husband, Lorne. CeeCee died on 11th September 2021. Those were her last words: ''Oh Lord, it feels like the plane is going down.'' Nona heard her final lengthy scream, and then the phone went dead.


    ''What did you do?''; asked the user.


    ''I''m sorry.''; replied Nona, startled. Her heart was still racing, and she could feel sweat dripping off her forehead.


    ''What did you do?''


    ‘I..; I…;’


    ''Well, young lady, I don''t know what hocus-pocus you did, but it is definitely fixed!''


    ''It is?''


    ''Yes, my PC finally accepted that today is Thursday.'' Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ''Glad I could help.''; at least she could help people with ridiculous tech issues because all the rest, she was just a witness like anyone else. There was nothing she could do. Nona was the girl who could taste time. All she could do was sit back and watch.


    She couldn''t remember when it started, but the play was always the same. An abrupt silence from nowhere, an unpleasant goosebump, a sticky, dusty taste and black particles leaving her mouth and then anything could happen.


    She could hear a conversation echoing in her apartment. Seeing someone being killed from a hundred years ago. Receiving mail that didn''t belong to her or her address, smelling a storm on sea or fired up gasoline. Everything happened in front of her, most of the time overlapping her own reality. Today she was lucky.


    If she told anyone about her unique talent, most people would be ecstatic, suggesting she could be a superhero! A new Cassandra foretelling what is to come. Because most people think of reality as a line. But it is not. Time is more like a flushing toilet.


    Let''s use Nona''s cat as an example. If we put Schrodinger in a box, we would face three realities, well, more, but let''s keep it simple. The black cat is in the box and might be dead or alive. Same reality, but now with a twitch. Because in one reality, the cat in the box might be dead, but in the other might be alive. Or we never open the box, and the cat is alive and dead.


    Now make the calculations. In a timeline, the cat is safe. On the second one, the cat is no longer with us. And last, the cat is alive or dead. That made three separate timelines.


    So there is no knowing for Nona if the information she received is from her reality or another universe. The call she received, CeeCee, was still alive, and in that reality, it was 2021, 11th September, 9:50 am.


    Schrodinger jumped on Nona''s lap: ''Are you okay, love of my life?''


    ''Yeah, that was a hard one.''


    ''Someone else dying?''


    ''Yeah, another one.''


    Nona noticed that it was more frequent for her to witness time fractions of great emotional discharge such as violence, pain, loss, and death. She can''t remember seeing a happy memory, but maybe it was her fault. Misery and sadness are inseparable friends.


    Work finished late. It was always the same, the closer to the holidays, the crazier people went with their computers. She was tired and forgot to take her meds this morning. 900 mg of lithium, 300 mg of Quetiapine, 400mg of lamotrigine and clonazepam if she felt she was about to crack. Covid-18 has put the world on lockdown, and she never felt safer. It was a horrible thought, but due to the World Health Organization, Nona could work from home. No longer would people watch her react to an empty scenario that only she could see. The last time that happened, she was almost misdiagnosed with schizophrenia, as if being bipolar was not good enough.


    She turned the shower on and looked at her tired reflection, her pale triangular face with torn eyes underlined by black circles. She hadn''t brushed her grey hair for days and couldn''t remember when the last time was she showered. Isn''t it funny that someone who lives in constant time lapses loses track of time?


    She took a shower and washed her hair and teeth. Put on a new pyjama and fluffy warm socks. And ready to call it a day. As she lay down, she saw Schr?dinger walking through the bedroom door, but she couldn''t hear his tiny paws touching the wooden floor. She then felt the cringing cold goosebump and dark particles spread in the air as she exhaled. A fraction of a second to be ready, and there it was.


    A heavy, sweaty man with madness stamped in his eyes, clutching his hand around her neck. Nona felt her body wanting to shut down on fight its flight mode. She could feel his boiling beer breath over her face and all his strength, eager to break her bones. She could breathe. She was fine. It was not her that he was killing.


    She glimpsed at his wrist, 10:10 PM, but no date and a kitchen knife dropping on edge right through her chest. Once, twice and again. She saw the round chubby, badly shaved face screaming and drolling rage with no sound. By the shape of his lips, he was probably screaming die, die, whore. Nona was unsure, she didn''t practice reading lips much, but it would be what someone would say in this type of situation. Wouldn''t it?


    She tried to react as stoically and coldly as possible, pretending she wasn''t there and a man three times her size was not sitting on top of her killing some poor random woman or man. She wasn''t there. This is not her story.


    This can''t be just what life has reserved for her. She lost count of how long the man stayed on top of her killing her. She didn''t notice that her bed was covered in someone else''s dead blood. She didn''t notice. She let herself cry and screech to sleep.


    ''This is no way of living. This is no way of living! I can''t do this anymore. I can''t!''


    On the floor, mixed with sweat and blood, a white and blue striped shirt with the stamp of Qatar 2022 that time forgot to erase.