[ WP ] Time is a sentient being . It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions .

The cock announced dawn. So soon! Sleep came a handful of short hours ago. 
 Ahana tumbled from the bed she shared with her young brother. Her rough-soled feet were small on the hard dirt floor. She did not mind the cold in the mountains, being of them. 
 
 Her mother had awoken first and was preparing breakfast. Poori again. At least it was portable. Ahana dunked her portion of fried bread into the yogurt. She slipped on her sandals with the other hand and was off. 
 
 The roads of her village were a muted lavender in the early light. Dozing dogs looked up at her approach. The slap of her sandals was audible in the quiet. At this hour she felt alone in all the world, like an adventurer embarking on some secret quest to be shared with no one. 
 
 No one save Mahani, the old beggar, who smiled toothlessly as she neared his corner. Did he sleep, Ahana wondered, or did he spend all night staring up at the bright moon, whispering to it as she'd seen him do? As she often did, she came to him with a hand outstretched and bearing a handful of her breakfast. As he often did, he refused it. He would n't accept the breakfast of a young girl barely better off than himself. He waved it off with a leathery hand, smiling. 
 
 The village's main road became the road to Prakesh. Not far was the station. Despite the early hour, the tired, hungry-eyed men were already thronged along the tracks. She was too young and narrow to warrant more than a look from most, but still some leered. Each day, another glance turned into a stare. Ahana crossed her arms, put her eyes on the ground and waited for the train. 
 
 It came with no whistle, surging past in a cacophony of metal. There was no rail; if the tired men were an arm's length closer, they'd be struck. They did not seem to care. The rush of wind blew through their dark hair and thin shirts. After the train whined and ground almost ( but not fully ) to a stop, they boarded in a fight of elbows and curses. Those who could not win a space inside clung to some feature's of the train's exterior - a bar, a chain - or even climbed and perched atop it. Ahana wedged herself in a space between cars, where the men were too large to go. She felt safe, pressed against the cold iron. 
 
 Years of this had trained her to find fits of sleep here, even as the train slammed along its tracks with the men it bore hollering and the mountains rushing by. A few moments here, a precious minute there, hard won and made possible by her state of deprivation. The land flattened and within an hour the train came to Sagar. 
 
 Ahana collected her wits and pushed from her refuge. The train's men surged ahead and she darted through the openings in that herd, taking bumps but not stopping until she was into her alley. Once, she had stumbled, was nearly trampled, and was beaten for it by her mother that night ( she was not sure which damage was worse ). 
 
 She needed to run to make her shift. Following the map in her head, burned there by repetition, she took the alleys and side streets, her sandals clapping against the city's din. Alley dogs would break into chase but be turned away by the crowds she'd slip into, out of, in the main roads. Amputees shouted up at her from their ruin, shaking cups, as if she had anything to give. 
 
 Her chest heaved as she burst through the doors. Just in time. She took her place on the line and smiled breathlessly to Dhal, a city girl a year older than herself. They did not talk much - Ahana found she made mistakes when talking. Only a hello was shared before the line was moving and the watches came to her on the belt. With practiced hands she attached a plastic wristband to each timepiece that passed, barely quick enough to keep pace. 
 
 She dared not slow. The forewoman would stalk by soon. Any hesitation in the line would earn a rap from the long, vicious stick she carried, and Ahana had felt it enough to know the strikes would continue until the pace quickened. 
 Ahana only flinched when a girl near to her place was struck. She could n't look away from her hands - she needed to work or she'd be next. With each strike came another flinch. She could not say anything - could not stop working. The girl was after her own place and so the watches would not slow. 
 
 It was hours of this and the day was late before she left, her eyes threatening to close from tiredness. She was so angry at the forewoman - she'd hurt that girl, sent her home. The manager made the forewoman herself take the girl's place in line. They were all so cruel! And so she'd surprised herself with a small act of vengeance. She stole one of the black plastic wristwatches, and hid it in her clothes. 
 
 That evening, as she wearily walked back from the train, back to her home, she passed Mahani, the old beggar, who lay against a wall, staring at the moon. She had no food to offer him, but came at him with the wristwatch. He only laughed at it and waved it away. What use did he have for the time? She smiled at him - how nice it must be, to have no use for the time. To have any hour be like another. To take the day and night at your leisure. To sleep. To sleep. 
 Ahana sat down beside the beggar and tossed the watch at her feet. She smashed its face with a rock, once, twice. The plastic cracked and broke. She crushed it again, ruining the motion of the hands. 
 
 `` That is the way,'' said Mahani. `` Rest a while.'' 
 
 Ahana closed her eyes. She heard Mahani whisper to the sky. She dreamed as long as she liked and the moon did not move again until she chose to wake. For the first time in years she'd welcome the dawn. 

