He was clubbing the clock with a baseball bat.
“Whatcha doin’?” she asked.
“That’s not time. That’s a chronometer. It just measures time. It’d be like trying to kill a virus by smashing a thermometer.”
He slumped. “So, what? I need like a time vaccine?”
She shook her head. “That would stop time, but you already have time.”
“What do I do?”
“If I can’t kill it, what if I just pass it?”
He tried walking back and forth over the mangled clock.
“This is not satisfying,” he said.
He stopped and thought. Heroes in stories are always running out of time.
“How fast do you think I’d have to go to run out of time?”
“When is the last time you ran anywhere?”
“Sixth grade. Gym class.”
“Well then,” she said, “I don’t think you’d have to run very fast at all.”