Flash Fiction: The Lost Hour

Jeffe's off hobnobin' and ballyhooin' at the Tuscon Festival of Books this weekend, so I'm back to muck with her hats and shoes. No, wait. Not shoes. She has tiny feet. Damnitall.  Well, I guess I ought to get to it and tell you, beloved readers, the story of...

What Happens to the Lost Hour of DST

As told to the children who asked...

Time is not a matter of years or months or days. Hours and minutes are just units of measure. It is the seconds that count. The tick, the tock. And do you know why we call it Tick and Tock?

Those are the names of Father Time's dragons.

You see, Father Time has a great big workshop. Our little blue earth sits on a high shelf with all the other planets in our solar system ringing the sparkling orange sun. Tick and Tock are enamored with the vibrant colors of our planets. The rhythmic thumping of their tails cause the worlds to turn ever so slightly, rolling us around the great big sun. It's all a very grand game to them, making the planets move without ever touching them.

But, there are moments when Tick and Tock are mischievous--as all dragons are wont to be.

They know they can look but not touch the pretty, pretty planets. However, on rare occasion, when Father Time is engrossed in his work, Tick will clamber up on Tock's back and stretch his very long neck to get a closer look at our world. There is a scent--of spring and rain, of flowers and grass, and--

Achoo!

Our little world tumbles forward. Tick scrambles off Tock as Father Time looks up from his work. His thick white brows furrow. He glances at his dragons. They look up at him, eyes wide, tails thumping. Father Time chuckles and scruffs their heads, then goes back to work.

That, ladies and gentlemen is how we lose an hour.

Dragon sneeze.