There was a jumper that morning.
I felt nothing.
I usually run the Brooklyn Bridge every morning, but that day, twirling red and blue lights disrupted the routine. A crowd had formed around the police blockade.
“He was wearing a suit,” someone said. “Must be some finance bro.”
I felt a hiccup of emotion. A spark.
Anger.
These people, this jumper, were disrupting my routine.
My brother entered my mind.
The last person I tried to help was my brother, and he was a good man. Not everyone can say that about the people they love. Too much time had passed. I tried anyway. Again and again, I rewound, pushing myself to collapse, but I never reached him in time.
Each rewind tore at my insides as if I’d swallowed broken glass. I arrived too late by minutes, saw paramedics shaking their heads and my brother’s eyes lost their light. I tried a dozen times, and each failure left me more hollow. My power could stretch seconds, but not fate. Eventually, I stopped trying altogether. I couldn’t bear to feel that razor-edged regret again.
The Wyrd Interlude:
Some wield time like a blade, carving moments to save others—or themselves. This is a tale of rewound seconds, fractured hearts, and finding meaning in the chaos. Inhale deeply, for this—is wyrd fiction.
“What should I do?” I had asked him.
“About what?” he asked as he loaded his backpack with perfectly organized Ziploc bags, filled with something that would one day be legal.
“About my gift?” I asked.
“Some gift,” he joked.
“Come on, for real,” I said.
“You want my advice?” He turned up to me, and I nodded.
“I think you deserve to have something for yourself,” he said. “I know you wanna help people, but look at you,” his voice went low. “I see the color leaving your eyes more every day.”
He was right.
If I had gone that night I would have been within range to save him. But by the time I heard what happened, it was too late. Too much time had passed. I tried anyway, but no path would get me there in time, and when I finally collapsed I had disintegrated my insides and he died all the same.
I never tried after that. I couldn’t care if I wanted to.
So I stood on the bridge that morning with the jumper.
And I turned and headed home. I wanted to feel. I wanted to have a reason to care. Then I saw the man’s children in black. The flashes hit me.
I stopped.
Tears. Screaming. Pain. They washed over me in flashes.
The children. The mother. The worst day of their life.
And … I felt nothing.
But I wanted to. I rolled my shoulder, turned back, and as I did I heard a woman scream and saw a figure dropping towards the water.
Time slowed.
I closed my eyes and took a deep inhalation of time and pulled the universe inwards and the world moved around me and I opened my eyes as the moment came into existence and I saw the man in a suit moving in reverse through the world and I exhaled.
I fell to a knee. The jolt of stopping always knocked me down. Ahead, I saw the man in a suit walking casually toward the jump point.
I started jogging.
He faced the edge.
His eyes looked exhausted and afraid. They lingered on Lower Manhattan.
“Hey,” I called out and he looked back at me.
I forced a smile and gave a little wave as I neared him and said: “You’re Tommy and Samantha’s dad right?”
I stopped next to him.
He smiled through his sadness. “I am.” There was joy and pride there.
“Sorry,” he said. “Do I know you?”
I froze, fumbling for words, then took off running in the opposite direction.
He called after me, then began screaming and cursing, trying and failing to chase me down.
The flash hit. I saw him hugging his kids, putting them to bed, talking with his wife about home security and private schools and maybe moving out of the city.
A smile crept across my face.
It’s not the cleanest save I’ve ever done, but I’m counting it as a win.
The Wyrd Curtain:
The burden of seeing time as malleable is a reminder that even the smallest intervention can ripple outward. For some, salvation comes not in grand gestures but in fleeting moments—a smile, a distraction, or a stumble backward from the abyss. The wyrd path winds ever onward, and though we cannot see where it leads, perhaps the simplest acts of care are what keep the darkness at bay.