Theoretically it was only to take an hour, one thin and obvious hour; a span that could be calibrated by an instrument of man. It was hoped that it could be constructed in that short of time. It was a postulation of hubris, of blindness, of haste, and meant to satisfy the deepest lust for the impossible, to make magic quickly, and sing it like a song.
Ten or so jackets milled about a foyer, and looked through 20 lenses to a contest form posted by a heretical child bent on a theory that time was not an essence that could be pushed around, but rather was a concept of elasticity; and not a moment that could be stretched like taffy and wrapped around a statue like arms and legs around a dolly.
At the end, which of course was just another useful concept, the ten jackets, thinking they had accomplished the task – smoked cigars, and made expansive plans for the cult of the future, who would stand where; prefiguring what each might say to the paper men, and then electing a spokesperson to act as effigy, they all went home –
Where there was more than time to kill…
(Note to Sack Posset: Is this Prose?)