[. . .] He explained how once we began to chime the hour, we lost the ability to be satisfied.
There was always a quest for more minutes, more hours, faster progress to accomplish more in each day. The simple joy of living between sunrises was gone.
“Everything man does today to be efficient, to fill the hour?” Dor said. “It does not satisfy. It only makes him hungry to do more. Man wants to own his existence. But no one owns time.”
He lowered his hand from Victor’s eyes. “When you are measuring life, you are not living it. I know.”
He looked down. “I was the first to do it.”
His face was even paler now. His hair was damp with sweat.
“How old are you?” Victor whispered.
Dor shook his head. The first man to count his days had no idea how many he had accumulated.
He took a deep, painful inhale.
And he collapsed. [. . .]
[. . .] As they eyes closed, a different set of eyes opened, and they rose from the ground as a shared soul, up and up, a sun and a moon in a single sky. [. . .]