The New Accelerator: The Afternoon That Almost Stopped

Before the crash

Gibberne let go of his glass. It stayed in the air. I waited for it to break. There was time to walk around it.

A useful little bottle

A moment earlier, we had swallowed his invention. “More hours in the day,” he’d promised. I had a book to finish.

Not stopped. Slower.

The glass was still falling. We were simply moving thousands of times faster. Gibberne caught it and set it down. Carefully.

A town held still

Outside, a cyclist hung over his handlebars. Behind his wheel, a curl of dust seemed carved from stone.

Room inside a second

A bee passed Gibberne’s finger. Each wingbeat took an age. I leaned close enough to study it, and began to laugh.

Music pulled apart

On the promenade, a brass band was playing. We heard only a deep, broken groan. The musicians looked trapped inside their own notes.

A private afternoon

Too fast to be seen. Too fast to be interrupted. I had never felt so important. Gibberne looked ready to try anything.

The first scorch

He broke into a run. In a few strides, his pale trousers began turning brown. “Stop!” I shouted. “Your clothes!”

The air pushes back

We had forgotten the air. At this speed, rushing through it heated us like falling meteors. Even walking was making me sweat.

The world catches up

Then the band’s groan began to climb. A musician’s hand moved. The drug was wearing off. In a moment, everyone would see us.

Back among everyone

“Sit!” said Gibberne. We dropped onto the grass. Music burst around us. The world was moving at our speed again.

The cost of a shortcut

We stood, leaving scorched grass behind us. Half an hour of our lives had fitted inside a few bars of music. Gibberne examined his trousers.

A market opens

He would make a weaker version, he said. Sell it in little green bottles. I thought of everything a person could do unseen.

Business as usual

We agreed that misuse was somebody else’s problem. I wrote this account on another dose. I had a book to finish.