Time Is Dying – Chapter One

Time is dying. Three cryptic words that landed Jeremiah Jesus, an American translator with a tendency to make dubious decisions, in a bit of a pickle.

Time Is Dying - Chapter One
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Time is dying. That was the last thought I had before I headed below deck to look for a blanket. I couldn’t find one, so I’ve been tearing up cushions to have something to pack around me if I can find a corner to bed down in. It’s a moonless night, and I’m all alone on a powerless boat on Lac Léman. It occurs to me that I’ve made some poor life decisions in the past twenty-four hours.

My name is Jeremiah Jesus, and last night I was in Germany trying hard to drink myself to sleep. I’m what my aunt, Mama Grace, used to politely call swarthy, which was her way of saying that my daddy was Mexican. I’m not ugly or pretty, tall or short, thin or large. Aside from my hawkish nose, I’m pretty indistinct.

In Europe, I’m often mistaken for Greek, so I was speaking in a Greek-accented German, which was getting progressively worse as the night went on. Fortunately, when I totally blanked on what to say, I just recited some poetry in French, which everyone seemed to think was hilarious. God, I fucking hate Germany.