I walk into the room and am confronted with time; in the walls, the ceiling, the floor; in the light pouring through the large ballroom windows. A flash of people. Colorful people. The tinkle of voices rolls over my ears in alternating waves of loud and soft. Concentrate. A girl standing by the center window holds something in her hand. What it is? A jeweled fan. A party about 200 years ago.
To you this may sound crazy, but I am accustomed to it. I am a time reader. My profession is architect. Time reading has made me a world-renowned architect.
The first time it happened was at a friend’s home in Paris. I chalked it up to the wine. When it was repeated with a sober head, I thought I was crazy. I’m not. Certain events become trapped in a place. I don’t know all the rules because I believe I am the only one.
Wait. The girl is looking at me. Not at a person in the past standing on the same spot, but at me.
This is a response to a writing challenge from An Artist at Heart. You can see the photo and prompt here. It was the photo that got me. I have not written a male main character in a while. I did this for practice, but I think I have a new idea for a novel.