This thing all things devour
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers
Gnaws at iron, bites at steal
Has no shape but its presence real
Slays kings, ruins towns
Seeks us all, but makes no sound

Time.

The answer is time.

A sinister smile crept across his lips as the solution worked its way into his mind at last. At last. Too much thought had already been wasted on those six lines, six lines plaguing him like an incurable disease. He never liked puzzles or riddles. Ever since he was a young boy, they were an obstacle for him; his mind so gifted, so intelligent, yet always stumped when it came to riddles.

...

"What's black and white and read all over?" taunted a young red-haired girl, covered in freckles. A jealous classmate. Even at eight years old, he had an obvious edge over his peers. He thought just a little deeper, learned just a little faster, competed just a little harder. But he hated puzzles.

"Come on, it's an easy one. Think about it!" She egged him on.

He felt his face turn red. They were all staring at him.

"You're the smartest in the class, why can't you figure it out?" Another boy teased, laughing out loud.

"Black and white..." the girl said slowly, purposely trying to make him feel like an idiot. "And read…what is read?"

He stared at her blankly, thinking hard, but coming up with nothing. A bloody skunk? No, that's ridiculous. That can't be it. Black and white…and red…a painted zebra? An Oreo cookie in ketchup?

"I…I don't know…" he admitted softly, looking down in embarrassment as the kids around him laughed.

"It's a newspaper! Duh!" She said. "Get it? Black and white…and read? R-E-A-D? Not the color red."

"Oh," he said. Simple. When you knew the answer, it was so simple. Why couldn't he just figure that out?

"Guess you are kinda stupid," another boy said. The boy that still couldn't add double digit numbers by third grade.

He felt tears welling up in his eyes, and before they could see him cry, he turned and ran as fast as he could. The tears ran down his cheeks as he tore through the playground, through the parking lot and down the street. He took a shortcut home, and immediately retreated to his refuge, his tree house. He designed it himself, every little detail. Uncle Mike helped him build it, but it was his mind that created it. His mind wasn't stupid. He wasn't an idiot. He was a genius. A genius that had a mental block for puzzles and riddles. And that gnawed at him.

...

A feeling of accomplishment washed over him as he silently repeated the puzzle in his mind, complete with the answer. It was ironic that his path would eventually cross with probably the greatest puzzle solver in the world. They met under odd circumstances, recognizing instantly the determination in one another's eyes. And so was born a nearly indestructible force, both men eager to achieve the same goal. Intellect and shrewdness fused with logic and practicality. The combination was perilous, even deadly.

And too good to be true.

Time.

It would soon be time.

His time.

Their time.

Like old times. With a twist. Or two.

He smiled to himself as his mind considered the four-letter word that took so long to lodge itself in his brain. Time. What is time, anyhow? Is it how we measure our days? Our experiences? Our lives? We're so dependent on time, everything is measured in time. In a sense, time controls us. There are endless expressions about time. Time flies. Time is on our side. Time is money. Time heals all wounds. He often wondered about that one…

Time is precious. It can linger on indefinitely, or it can be snatched away in an instant. It can be gentle, and it can be relentless. Eventually, time takes its toll. Time will have its way. But then again, there are those special instances in life where time works in your favor. Those brief and fleeting moments where time doesn't dictate to you, but rather, you take control. You're in command. This is your time.

That time had come.

Too many days, hours, seconds ticked away while he awaited his time to come. For too long, time hadn't been on his side. But now that it was, everything in the past seemed to be worth it. It would be worth the endless days of boredom, cooped up in an eight by ten prison cell, just waiting…waiting as others had their time. It would be worth the wasted time. It would be worth it to see another's time come…

To an end.