Resumo de Sliced Time - Caylin Caruso

Sliced Time by: Caylin Caruso You can tell a story a hundred times, and it will never be exactly the same. Every inch to give is exaggerated, stretched, or embellished to its extreme with details that will increase the shock value. True stories have to be told with all the correct details as not to alter the harsh reality of their validity. Looking at it from all angles is the challenge. A point of view is drawn together and you then lay out the consequences become clear. In the back of my mind, it didn''t feel real. It felt as if the reality had been stripped from the story and the remains were the jumbled aftermath of a chilling dream. Christmas Day "Jasmine! Hang on sweetie! We''re almost there, just keep breathing!" Vincent Crowe yelled, tearing through the parking lot. "Dad, I''m feeling a lot of pain. I don''t think this is supposed to happen." Jasmine''s forehead and chest were completely drenched as her father pulled up to the maternity unit of the hospital. Her water had broken and the contractions were increasing just a bit too fast. "Just hang in there," Vincent begged and wheeled her through the big double doors. He tried not to notice the slightly purple tint of Jasmine''s left pinky. "Somebody get me a doctor, my baby''s having a baby!" A nearby nurse took one look at Jasmine and almost collided with the wall trying to get to her. "Thank you sir, we''ll take it from here." "But ma''am, she''s--" "Try not to worry, sir, we do this everyday," the nurse reassured him. And with that she pivoted and wheeled the gasping Jasmine through another set of doors and out of his sight. As Jasmine was lifted from the chair to the long white table, she felt a surging pain course through her abdomen. She desperately tried to tell the nurse what she was experiencing but the room was starting to turn fuzzy. Forcing herself back to consciousness she thought to herself, I will not die today. "Jasmine! Stay with us!" She heard the nurse yell from a far away land. Without warning, the room lit up around her and she saw the small woman frantically strapping an IV to her arm. The doctor''s head had vanished below and was preparing for a cesarean section. Jasmine''s vision was sluggish as she turned her head towards the bay window to her right. There, standing with his hands pressed up against the glass was the only man Jasmine had ever cared about. Dozily, she smiled and he caught it right in the moment. "I love you, Dad." Her words were barely a whisper above the chaos around her. Vincent blinked and blinked but a stubborn tear itched at his right eye. "Pull together, people, she''s fading fast!" Vincent heard the muffled voice say and a jolt surged through his stomach. He watched as blood soaked the blue lining covering Jasmine''s stomach. Silently praying behind the glass, Vincent''s heart pounded in his ears. Reaching into the depths of his soul, he cried out inside. Jas, baby, this is not your time to die. I would give my life to stop this. God, don''t take my baby today. The clock never stopped for anyone, especially not for Jasmine Crowe. Time was always against her pushing her forward and beyond, never ceasing and always advancing. She often wondered why people needed time so badly. Time isn''t real; it''s just a measuwould be compelled to find it somewhere to keep some sort of warped control on their lives. There were everyday reminders of time hung or placed perfectly in every room of every house on every street, everywhere. Not being able to function without it, she forced herself to strap her wrist with it ever day. The office was a familiar one, but the memory was of discomfort. Doctors scared Jasmine with their bony fingers and starchy skin. She used to dream of them floating through halls in blinding white uniforms. They would visit her bedside with sunken faces and blank stares. It was never a feeling of relief to be at the doctor''s office; ever since she was little it represented a fear of something horribly wrong. Sitting uncomfortably on a hard wood chair, she could not keep her eyes from the clock now. It sat so confidently on the wall, reassuring Jasmine that time hasn''t forgotten about her. A man sat across from her with his eyes closed, slumped forward in earnest fatigue. Impatience had turned to lazy eyes as he softly breathed through his mustache. Her eyes flickered from the man to the floor, to the clock, to the door. A small noise disrupted her prelude as a frail nurse opened the door, clipboard in hand. The nurse seemed as though she was foreign to the office, her eyes were wide with questioning pupils and taut eyelids. Jasmine didn''t like how her gaunt fingers curled around the clipboard or how her thinning hair was held so tightly around her. Adjusting her glasses, she squinted her eyes at the paper. Seconds dragged on as Jasmine clenched her jaw tightly. Shuffling her feet, the nurse looked up over the rims of her thick lenses. At the pit of her stomach, Jasmine could feel bubbles of discomfort squirm. "Matt Thompson?" The nurse finally cranked out after what seemed like an eternity of unbearable anticipation. Her frail voice awakened the man and he sat up in his seat, eyes glossy. The clock began to tick again. "Matt Thompson?" She repeated. The man gurgled up from his slumber and left Jasmine and the clock with a loud phlegm-filled cough. Jasmine sighed and resumed to tapping her knee incessantly up and down in split-second movements. No magazine could take away the chilling echo of the second hand creeping around its axis. The slow drip of a leaky water jug in the far corner was the only other sound in the room. The shadows shifted as the door opened slightly and a new member entered the lobby. The smell of the male species filled the air as his light step crossed Jasmine''s path. The clock vanished from the wall. "Stone Callaway to see Dr. Heart," the man said smoothly. With his back towards her, Jasmine could feel his name sink into her memory. The second he turned away from the desk, she averted her eyes to her purse, pretending to find that lost mint she had been looking for. Daring to look up, she saw that he chose the same seat as the sleepy old man. For some reason this brought a smile to her face. Gaining confidence, she looked directly at him. A single strand of sandy hair fell over his otherwise perfectly arranged face. There was not one smidgen of a blemish-- not a single flaw. The structure of his face was unique, carrying a sense of strength right down to his chin. Eyes holding a calm sea of intensity, he gazed around the room. Jasmine noticed that he was wearing an all white suit with a tan shirt underneath. She thought it odd

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