The Time Banker Poem by Lonnie Hicks

There was an exact rendering in the books of her time granted her from all her relatives, from grandparents, to siblings, from her parents and even some deposits from friends.

He moved in his chair, rose, and glided toward the window to look out as he always did when he wanted to think.

The landscape outside was soothing, the morning was crisp and his mind focused in upon essenses.

This was a good thing to be doing in life he said to himself. Here he could offer her both a future granted to her from the past and he could be there, be present, as she came to understand in her majority, the time tables he would lay out for her.

It was the best part of his job and he always had that special tingle when telling an eighteen year old what the Time Bequeathal held for her.

He stirred himself and sat back down to look at her account one more time, just to be sure of the numbers. Added up she had 613,200 hours in her account, enough to last a life time, not counting the ones she would accumulate on her own in her own life time.

There were no warps and wormholes he could discern, which might threaten that. And that was good.

You like to see a nice clean account like this, he thought to himself.
He would suggest to her some insurance against the unpredictable, against, theft and banditry, against the unforeseeable.

He heard her gentle knock and rose.

To be continued.