So, in a flicker of an eye, he was returned, a little, to the past; re-lived the past; re-lived the relocation to the past. Thirty-four seconds.

 

The first time, he was silenced by its unreality: one moment oh-so-close to solving the enigma of perpetual motion, the next on the brink, tussling with despair and, in one more infinitesimal tick, back at the beginning and repeating all the careless deeds that sent him there. His actions were, in every way, identical; unchanged in all respects but one: he knew he'd done this once before.

 

Papers flew, flasks rolled, nonpareil parts slipped out of sight. Dust billowed in soundless storms and one quark of something strange landed badly, altering time, exactly as it did with every passage through, and Peater slipped back again, each time to the same moment, over and again.

 

The second time around he reeled. He tried to clear his head, move his hand, but found he couldn’t. Everything happened exactly as before. Somehow, he felt detached, unreal, remote, as if seeing things from another’s point of view. Sitting now, again, just as before, his head lowered to the desk and arms protectively around. Three-point-four degrees. Thirty-four seconds.

 

The third time was sharper, what was happening more clear. Once again, he watched the scene unfold as he, himself, set things in motion. Papers flew. This time around the mystery of what befell began to be revealed. Bottles fell. Still, though, he could not fathom what was happening. Exquisite parts. Settling dust. Thirty-four seconds.

 

By the fourth time round he’d had time enough: he examined every aspect of the scene, tried to take in everything he saw, his wide eyes flashing back and forth, chest pulsating, mouth agape as, once again, he experienced it all, precisely as before, fully knowing that time was now repeating in a loop, this thought not yet articulated. His arms wrapped neatly once again around his tangled mind as, finally, one thought pierced through the confusion: I am travelling in time!

 

Thirty-four seconds.

 

His revelation changed things. Five times now he’d stepped, sooner, into this exact same place. Adrenaline now drove through arteries drumming with euphoria:

 

Time-travel! I am a pioneer! The boundaries dissolved! Thirty years of thankless work, all failed, then this, this unexpected end!

 

His devotion to the task had been fulfilled, just as he was wavering at despair!

 

An accident. He would be celebrated, his name remembered for all time. He could even, perhaps, travel forth in time and see it for himself! A Nobel prize, for sure! The fifth reiteration was the one he always felt was best.

​

Thirty-four seconds.

 

Through the sixth, seventh and eighth revisits to the past and back, he began to marvel at the spectacle, his breath catching hard and quick. He delighted in the transit, the ebb and flow, the counterpoint. His watchful, apprehensive mood switched for indulgence, delighting in the energy, the transcendence, the vigour that accompanied every shift. It was joyful, euphoric: momentarily blissful. Whilst the scene played out, the ninth and tenth time over, the eleventh through to twenty-third, he steadily unwound, safe in knowing that time would recur and he could live, re-live this scene a thousand times and still be in the moment it began. As, dutifully, things moved on, he felt no impulse to react, content to see the scene play out, play in, play out, and feel the quiver of renaissance every time.

 

Over time, trivial particulars emerged: a burn mark sizzling on the bench, a slow and silent dripping tap half-caught in falling, the loudness of the clock’s tick and the tock of a bottle on the unforgiving floor. Drunk on reverence for this miracle, he welcomed every pass, each inconsequence a novelty, each frippery auspicious. For many phases, so diverted, he felt empowered, nothing less than the man who witnessed time itself unwound, the clock set back and the hour hung in silence.

​

It could, of course, not last. The obvious and awful truth was ultimately clear. The clock tormented, tick by tock by unremitting tick.

 

Thirty-four seconds.

 

The quick, euphoric instant of the shift. In carrying out his fated act, he surrendered to a revelation, all too much to bear. Of every beating heart on Earth, his was the only one that could relive those pulses. He was unparalleled, his discovery almighty. And yet, he was ensnared, alone, held not in bindings made of rope or chain but, more terribly, of time.