Dilating the Paradox

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Rose woke up gradually, wandering into consciousness as she so frequently wandered out of it these days. The wall clock across the room read 10:15, but there was no way to tell if it was morning or evening. They kept her blinds drawn up tight unless she specifically asked for them to be opened. Did they think she wanted to shut herself away from the world?

She glanced toward her visitor’s chair in case it was morning and someone had come in while she slept. There in the chair sat the Captain. She could see him clear as day, looking almost as she remembered, a bit older, perhaps. Impossible, of course, but not surprising. A while back, Rose’d had visitors and she’d been sure one of them was cousin Greta, who’d died at least eighty years ago. The directionality of time was coming unstuck for Rose. One of the side effects of the close approach of death. Another of the good Lord’s little jokes.

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