Here is a teaser prologue that is meant as an artsy representation of the book as a whole
What if you could see the future? To pass beyond all conception of time and space, transcending this reality of life itself: that would be a gift indeed. Time has never been my friend. She tickles my neck, tantalizing, breathing sweet mysteries into my ear. That great deceiver caresses me with her voice, enlivens me with her touch, and tempts me with her power. She hears my idle fantasies and tempts me with possibility… for a time.
She has me by a chain now, wrenching me back into her arms. Submit to her once, I will be hers forever, and only Death will save me. She tortures me with visions of the past, visions of the future, visions of pain. That tempting breath on my neck turns fowl, stinking of cold sweat and long deceased tears, promising one thing, giving me another, but it is too late. I am held back by her chains: the chains of memories.
“If only I could go back.”
“But you can’t!” she screams, laughing while I struggle to run from her clutches. Memories’ chains are taught on my throat as I am caught in a fool’s attempt to flee. Time has bound me, and only Death will free me.
Death comes in many forms, but which one will I choose. Time has played a cruel trick, but can Death be trusted? This God of Death has seen my past, can see the future, and watches my present suffering. Time gives him no restrictions. He hunts me down from the plane beyond life itself, but what is his intent? He has seen me beyond the Void, that place of death to Death itself. No spirits are born there, and no spirits die, but mine he has seen. He hunts me for what I know, hunts me for who I am.
“What is beyond the Void?” His voice almost sounds soothing, but I know it to be a lie.
Death and Time battle for my will, but this war of gods is not mine. I run from the duelling deities, but they are ever with me. Time haunts me like a shadow in my mind, pulling me from myself. Death stands ahead of me, a lightning-storm in the night. His purple streaks of power shoot through the darkness, lighting my way.
“Come for me now, or not at all.” He teases, forcing me to make a choice. Death’s knife is in my hand, but can I make the plunge?
“My name is Mert Whatley, and Death will not claim me!” The knife is bloody in my hand as I seek release. I cast my spirit to the ground and pull myself from Death’s grasp. The light of Death’s storm fades, as I fade from his view. He sees my spirit lying there, still dripping with life’s promise, but I am gone.
Time throws memories ahead of me. I trip over them in the dark, stumbling over my past without knowledge of the future. Time is the darkness around me now. All I can do is wait and hope. Hope that I wake from this nightmare that has become my life.