Mia stared at the sink full of dirty dishes, a groan escaping her lips. It was her turn to wash up, a chore she usually didn’t mind. But tonight, there was an extra knife. Just one. A seemingly innocuous addition, yet it held the power to warp time and transform destinies.
This wasn’t just any knife. It was the ceremonial butter knife, used only for special occasions and adorned with intricate carvings that demanded meticulous cleaning. Each groove, each swirl, seemed to whisper, “Take your time, Mia. This will take forever.”
With a sigh, Mia filled the sink with hot, soapy water. She gingerly picked up the knife, its handle slippery with butter residue. As soon as her fingers touched the cold metal, a strange sensation washed over her. The world around her slowed, the ticking clock morphing into a languid drawl.
She began to scrub, each stroke an eternity. The suds multiplied, transforming into a foamy mountain that threatened to engulf the kitchen. The dishcloth, once a simple square of cotton, became a writhing beast, its threads tangling around the knife, refusing to release their grip.
Minutes stretched into hours, hours into days. Mia’s reflection in the windowpane aged before her eyes. Her youthful skin wrinkled, her hair turned silver, her once-nimble fingers stiffened with age.
The knife, sensing her weariness, seemed to grow heavier, its intricate carvings multiplying, each demanding individual attention. Mia scrubbed and scrubbed, her movements becoming slower, her sighs deeper.
The sun rose and set countless times. Seasons changed, empires fell, new civilisations arose. Yet Mia remained by the sink, her wrinkled hands eternally scrubbing the cursed knife.
Finally, after eons had passed, the knife gleamed with a blinding purity. Mia, now a wizened old woman, held it aloft, a triumphant yet weary smile gracing her lips.
With a trembling hand, she placed the knife on the draining board, its journey complete. As soon as it touched the metal rack, time snapped back into its normal rhythm. The foamy mountain vanished, the dishcloth returned to its ordinary form, and Mia’s reflection showed a young woman once again, albeit with a newfound appreciation for the passage of time.
She looked at the clock. Only five minutes had passed. Five minutes. A lifetime compressed into a mere blink of an eye. Shaking her head in disbelief, Mia vowed to never again underestimate the power of an extra knife, especially a ceremonial butter knife with a penchant for time-bending mischief.
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