The Price of Minutes

Sarah Montgomery first discovered her ability to control time on her twenty-fifth birthday. She'd been running late for a crucial job interview, stuck in gridlocked traffic, when desperation peaked and time suddenly... stopped. The world around her froze like a paused video, and she felt a strange tingling sensation course through her body.

That evening, examining herself in the bathroom mirror, she noticed three grey hairs that hadn't been there before. She plucked them out, dismissing them as stress-induced. She got the job, after all – arriving "miraculously" on time.

It took five more incidents before she understood the correlation. Each time she manipulated time, she aged. Small manipulations – pausing time for a few minutes – resulted in a few grey hairs or slight wrinkles. Larger ones extracted a steeper price.

Now, at chronological age thirty-two, Sarah looked closer to forty-five. She kept a detailed journal documenting every instance of time manipulation and its corresponding physical cost. The entries helped her rationalize her choices, though some nights she questioned whether any of them had been worth it.

"You're doing it again," Marcus said, reaching across the café table to touch her hand. His dark eyes held concern. As her best friend of fifteen years, he was the only person who knew her secret. "That thing where you get lost in your head."
Sarah smiled wearily. "Just thinking about choices."
"The Thompson girl?"

She nodded. Three weeks ago, she'd frozen time for nearly an hour to save a twelve-year-old girl from being hit by a drunk driver. The price had been steep – prominent crow's feet around her eyes and a streak of silver running through her dark hair. But little Amy Thompson was alive, and that's what mattered.

"I don't regret it," she said firmly, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug. "I just... sometimes I wonder how much time I have left. Not just in terms of years, but in terms of uses. How many more times can I intervene before..."
Marcus leaned back, studying her face. "Before you look too old to be believable? Before people start asking questions?"

"Exactly." Sarah took a sip of her cooling coffee. "My mother called yesterday. I had to make up an excuse not to video chat. Again. How do I explain looking fifteen years older than I should?"

Before Marcus could respond, Sarah's phone buzzed. A text from the hospital where she worked as a nurse: "Emergency. All hands on deck. Major accident on Highway 16."
Sarah's stomach clenched. She knew what major accidents meant – multiple casualties, lives hanging in the balance. Lives she might be able to save, at a cost.

"Go," Marcus said softly. "Do what you need to do. But Sarah? Be careful."
The hospital was chaos when she arrived. A school bus had collided with a tanker truck. Twenty-eight children injured, six critical. Sarah moved through the emergency department with practiced efficiency, her mind already calculating potential moments where she might need to intervene.

The first crisis came at 2:47 PM. A young boy, no more than seven, was crashing. The doctor hadn't arrived yet, and Sarah knew the child wouldn't last another two minutes.
She closed her eyes, felt the familiar surge, and the world stopped.

Working quickly in the frozen time, she prepared everything the doctor would need, positioning equipment and medications just so. When she released her hold on time, the doctor rushed in to find everything perfectly arranged for the life-saving procedure.

Cost: A deepening of the lines around her mouth, a scattering of grey at her temples.
The second intervention came an hour later. Two children coding simultaneously, not enough staff to handle both emergencies. This time, she held time for nearly ten minutes.
Cost: More prominent nasolabial folds, the beginning of jowls.
By the time her shift ended at midnight, Sarah had stopped time four more times. Each intervention saved a life. Each one aged her a little more.

Standing in the hospital bathroom, she barely recognized her reflection. The woman staring back looked close to sixty, with silver-streaked hair and deep lines etched into her face. Her hands, once smooth and young, now showed prominent veins and age spots.

Her phone buzzed again. Marcus.
"How bad?" he asked when she answered.
"I saved six kids today," she whispered, voice trembling. "Six families who won't have to bury their children."
"And the cost?"
"I can't go home," she said, fighting back tears. "My roommate... she'll call the police, thinking some old woman broke in. I need..."
"Come to my place," he said without hesitation. "We'll figure this out."

Marcus lived in a converted warehouse loft downtown. When he opened the door, his sharp intake of breath told Sarah everything she needed to know about her appearance.
"Oh, Sarah," he murmured, pulling her into a hug.
She broke down then, sobbing against his shoulder. "I couldn't let them die, Marcus. They were just kids. But I don't know how much more I can do this. I'm running out of time – my time."

He led her to his couch, wrapping her in a soft throw blanket. "Maybe it's time to stop. You've saved so many lives already. More than most people could in several lifetimes."
"But how can I stop? Knowing I could save someone and choosing not to... wouldn't that make me responsible for their death?"

Marcus shook his head. "That's like saying every doctor who takes a day off is responsible for the patients they couldn't save. You're not God, Sarah. You're just one person, carrying an impossible burden."

She stared at her aged hands. "Sometimes I wonder if this power is a gift or a curse. Am I supposed to save everyone I can until I wither away completely? Or am I supposed to learn when to let go?"
"What do you think?"

"I think..." She paused, considering. "I think maybe it's about balance. About understanding that every life has value – including my own."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, until Sarah's phone chimed with another hospital alert. Multiple gunshot wounds, incoming trauma patients.

Sarah stood, her joints protesting in a way they never had before. "I have to go."
"Sarah, wait." Marcus caught her hand. "Promise me something. Promise me you'll be selective. Save the ones you absolutely must, but remember – you need to save some of yourself too."

She squeezed his hand, noting how their hands now looked the same age. "I promise."
The next six months taught Sarah the true meaning of choice. She learned to be more strategic with her power, using it only in the most critical situations. She watched some patients die, forcing herself to accept that she couldn't – shouldn't – save everyone.
But on a rainy Tuesday morning, her resolve was tested like never before.

She was walking to work when she saw the young mother and her baby waiting at the crosswalk. She also saw the delivery truck with failing brakes, the driver's panic-stricken face as he realized he couldn't stop.

Sarah didn't hesitate. She froze time, ran to the mother and child, and pulled them back from the curb. This time freeze lasted barely thirty seconds.

When time resumed, the truck careened through the intersection, missing them by inches. The mother clutched her baby, shaking but alive, never knowing how close they'd come to death.

Sarah felt the change immediately – more grey hairs, deeper wrinkles, another step closer to her inevitable end. But watching the mother kiss her baby's forehead, she felt something else too: peace.

That evening, she made a final entry in her journal:
"Today I understood something fundamental about my power. It's not about saving everyone or sacrificing myself completely. It's about recognizing those moments when my gift is meant to be used, accepting the cost, and finding grace in the exchange. Each grey hair, each wrinkle, each mark of aging is a testament to a life saved, a story continued.

"I may look seventy years old now, but inside, I carry the wisdom of countless choices, the weight of numerous sacrifices, and the joy of knowing that somewhere out there, people are living, loving, and growing older because I chose to give them my time.
"Perhaps that's the real power – not the ability to stop time, but the wisdom to know when to use it, and the strength to accept its price."

Sarah closed her journal and looked out her window at the setting sun. In the reflection of the glass, she saw her aged face and smiled. Each line told a story of a life saved, each grey hair a moment of grace.

She knew she would continue to use her power when truly needed, continue to age prematurely, continue to carry the burden of her gift. But now she understood – it wasn't about stopping time. It was about making every moment count, whether frozen or flowing.
And somehow, that made all the difference.