The Ministry of Time

by Kaliane Bradley

I ran for as long as I could, and then I stopped. I’d sweated through my clothing and the sweat encased me like cheap plastic. I stank and I was thirsty. I was still in bastard, bastard Greenhithe, and I didn’t have enough battery on my phone to call an Uber. I had to take a bus, trains, another bus, and eventually the tube to get into the Ministry. The day cracked open around me. I waded through its rancidly vivid yolk, feeling damaged by the sheer color and depth of normal vision. In a spy movie, this would have been done in a montage. Instead, I had to clamber to my narrative conclusion, step by staggering step.

My dad reassured me that my “redundancy” payout was a very good one and tried to jolly me into positivity; my mum took my hardship personally and promised to put “a curse” (unspecified) on my former employer. She’d never shown any inclination toward hexing and hedge magic before but it was nice to see her energetic.

Forgiveness, which takes you back to the person you were and lets you reset them. Hope, which exists in a future in which you are new. Forgiveness and hope are miracles. They let you change your life. They are time-travel.