"Can you mold it? Can you control it?"

  I believe I can."

  The councilman lets out a belly laugh, eyeing my threadbare clothes from head to toe. "And who made you God?"

  I glance down at his polished leather shoes. My own reflection stares back at me in the silver spurs. I fold my hat in my hands and meet his gaze. "You don't believe me?"

  His belly jiggles with amusement as he pulls a crumpled five-dollar bill from his coat and flings it at my feet. Clamping a cigar between his teeth, he mutters, "That's what I think of your invention of time."

  I grimace as he walks away. Then, I kneel, the brittle paper brushing my fingertips. Slipping it into my worn-out billfold, I make my way down the brick streets toward home.

  My fingers drum the air, counting every step. "Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four..." I pass through my round front door and hang up my light blue jacket. "Thirty-two, thirty-three..." I descend the basement stairs. "Forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five." I stop. Remove my glasses and glance at time. I press the button.

  "Can you mold it? Can you control it?"

  "I believe I can."

  I wait.

  "That's what I think of your invention of time."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I turn the knob. Rewind the last sixty seconds.

  "Can you mold it? Can you control it?"

  "I believe I can... That's what I think of your invention of time."

  Again, I rewind. Again. And Again. Each time, the five-dollar bill lands at my feet. Each time, I add it to the billfold. Forty-five rewinds later, I pause. Pull out my wallet and think, Five times forty-five - two hundred and twenty-five. Times that by forty-five...

  I whisper, "Ten thousand, one hundred twenty-five." A grin spreads across my face. I squeeze the thickened billfold in my hand and lift my eyes toward the ceiling. "Thank you, Lord."

  Upstairs, I fix myself a glass of tea and warm crumpets. At the table, I flip open my physics notebook and begin to read.

  My father, Philip Wondersmith, was a man of lumber - his back bent with labor until the flu took him. My mother washed hospital gowns until her hands betrayed her, stiffened with some neurological curse. We were poor, but we made do. We endure.

  "Adam Wondersmith!" my mother calls from the TV room.

  I rush to her side, removing my hat and folding it in my hands.

  "Yes, Mother?"

  She squints at me. "What on earth have you been doing in that basement? I won't have my teenage boy sick from mold spores, now will I?"

  I kneel by her chair and slowly pull out the billfold. My voice trembles. "Mother... God has given me a wonder." I show her the cash.

  Her eyes narrow in disapproval. "I will not have you lie in the name of the Lord, my boy." She waves a frail hand. "Where did you get that? Go on - pray for forgiveness!"

  "Mother," I scoot back slightly, locking eyes with her. My voice steadies with innocent truth. "When have I ever lied to you?"

  She hesitates with a look of disbelief.

  "Please believe me. It wasn't earned in dishonor - but through my mind. His gift to me."

  Her hand flies to her mouth. Her blue tulip eyes begin to water. "Oh, Adam..." She reaches out, cupping my face in her weathered hands. "I believe you, my boy. And with this blessing... you know what must be done."

  "Yes," I whisper, as her hands tremble against my cheeks. "I'm going to change the world."