Robbed Without Pressing Charges

by Ashleigh J

Distance is a criminal and Time is its accomplice.

They work together at Central Station on a Friday afternoon, studying the pattern of people
throughout the day. An unknowing victim, gawking up at the grand clock and the out-of-date
map underneath it, trying to pinpoint my due departure and arrival. Time usually takes the
morning shift to start the day, but Distance won’t clock on till 12 o’clock when the hour
becomes fuller, and the flood of people pour through the gates.

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Suitcase in hand, I stand suspended between two platforms, unravelling like thread. In the
years prior to 2020, there was certainty in my destination. I would board the train, sit in the
third carriage from the back on the left-hand side, and know that in a few fleeting minutes I
would be scooped up into the familiarity of my childhood and find rest in the arms that
worked tirelessly to raise me.

The laughter from my sisters would spill down the hallway, and the aroma from my mother’s
cooking would flood my lungs. I can almost hear the echo of my father’s welcome from the
kitchen now, warm and sturdy. It’s strength in tone breaks through the hustle of the station,
332km from my front door. Even so, I can visualise the stained-glass floral panel that lined
the wooden frame, and how the sun dashed its ray of colours in the early morning into the
foyer. When I was young, I would dance in its light and cup the red and green streams in my

hands, trying to savour the one hour of magic a day I was granted. This was before Time and
Distance began to warp and split the cracks we couldn’t see.

Illness had become the weapon, and we had fallen victim. Time pressed pause on the world
for two weeks, but then the button got stuck for two years. I watched my sister grow taller
through facetime, I saw my father’s wrinkles become more defined in photos, and I witnessed
my grandmother fall ill through a plastic screen hung like shower curtains. It was cruel, not
being able to break though the barrier that was built out of both fear and necessity. Time and
Distance found their power and struck at our weakness, redefining our purpose and stripping
the freedom we had taken for granted.

Phones became magnets for the eyes and books became dust collectors, as the demand for
immediate information was consistently rising. False media fed our delusions and support our
conspiracies, inevitably corrupting our perception and demolishing the trust we had in one
another.

The phrase “back to normal” became a lie people never questioned, throwing it around like
bread to ducks. Boarders and walls began to fall, revealing the damage that was left on
society.

Time and Distance had won, and they did not apologise.

Our home began to empty, and I realised that I had come back to a life that didn’t wait for
me, but in fact doubled in speed.

So, while I stand here stuck between the home that raised me and the home I’m building, I
can’t help but feel that quiet guilt. The guilt that I had let Time and Distance get the better of
me in those years away from family and in a society trying to survive destruction. For now,
I’ll treat my visits home like currency. It is the only wealth that matters to me now, because I
can’t buy back the years that Time and Distance stole.