Once upon a time, in the infinite land of dreams, there was a kingdom hidden beneath all the others. There was nothing unusual about it, except that it was inhabited only by rats.

This kingdom resembled our own world. There were rat parents, rat children, rat villages and rat towns, and borders between regions. Rats were born, and rats died. There were famous rats and lesser-known rats. There were deceitful rats; there were even honest rats. Some rats worked, while others, for one reason or another, were unable to.

What defined this rat world was its motto: “Stand out however you can, but stand out!”

Among them, however, was an old, lazy and crafty rat who had spent his whole life trying to stand out. He had never found a way, in his own fashion, to live up to the motto.

As his life was drawing to a close, and he had only a little time left, an idea finally came to him. “If time is so precious, why not chase it down and capture it?”

He devised a trick: a box for storing minutes. Crude in appearance, it was made of baked paste. He had even scorched it slightly on purpose.

In every public place, he put up posters announcing his invention, which naturally caught the attention of all the presidents and important rats.

They invited the inventor to give a demonstration.

The old rat disguised himself by dusting the fur on his head with a little white flour. Having delayed his arrival, he ran just enough to become short of breath. Then, when he appeared before them, he apologised.

— “Honourable rats, I ask your forgiveness. But I had to catch some time that had evaporated from the box you see here.”

Without delay, he got to the heart of the matter. He spoke quickly, having planned that this would make the assembly a little dizzy. Persuasively, he led them to believe that everyone could benefit from captured time.

— “Even your death could be delayed!” he proclaimed loudly. “All you need to do is take back the time you would have deposited in this little box of scorched paste. Unfortunately, it is fragile, and time can escape from it. If it were made of gold, your future would be secure.”

— “We will provide you with all the gold you want. We could even build an enormous box, an entirely golden building to contain time, if you ask us to!...”

— “But show us the basics,” called out one of the dignitary rats.

The old rat asked them to turn towards the wall behind them. Thus, no one saw him wipe the flour from his head after throwing down his fragile box, which shattered into a thousand pieces.

The most discreet yet most observant of the notables noticed, among the debris on the floor, a tiny pink pillow.

— “Where did the time go?” asked one of the noble rats as he turned around. Then he added, “Don’t tell me—I can see it. You’ve grown younger!”

— “Indeed, I can feel it! Part of the time I had saved came back to me; the rest escaped. The loss was caused by the poor quality and fragility of the little box,” the old rat lied.

— “Then why this little cushion?” asked a few shrewd rats.

— “Time gets bored when it has nothing to do and falls asleep. To attract it, you simply place a comfortable pillow in the box. The longer time sleeps, the fresher and more rested it will be when you need it. Putting time into the box is simple: you only have to do everything faster. The time you do not use is what goes to sleep.”

All the rats had nothing but praise for the inventor.

Without delay, the whole kingdom got to work: nobles, workers and the unemployed. A gigantic golden box, as high as a mountain, was built according to the old rat’s plans. He had even managed to convince the kingdom’s leaders to build a large lodge inside it for him to live in. His argument was simple: he would watch over time, make sure it did not escape, and count the minutes the box captured.

For the construction, the kingdom took its time. Since time could not be stored anywhere except in a box invented by the old rat, there was no point in rushing.

On the day the time collector was inaugurated, the old rat settled comfortably into his new all-gold quarters. All he did was lounge about, eat and doze. Far too comfortable in this golden fortress, he cared only about himself and delighted in remembering how he had fooled everyone.

Everywhere else in the kingdom, speed was mandatory. Everything had to go faster, ever faster, in order to capture as much time as possible.

A new illness appeared in the kingdom: the absence of free time caused by the frantic pace. The rats no longer rested; they no longer slept. They wanted to save time. Everything had to be faster, more expeditious. Work, decisions, games—nothing escaped the rush. Everything moved so quickly that no rat took the time to live anymore. They could no longer distinguish happiness from unhappiness; they did not even have time to perceive the difference.

All the rats in the kingdom became so tense and nervous that they began killing those who did not move fast enough. “That will only leave more time for the rats who remain!” they told themselves. And those rats did the same to one another.

The last one, an ambitious rat who had never stopped going faster, was carried off by exhaustion.

One day, when the old rat ran out of provisions, he decided to leave his cosy lair. He saw nothing but death and desolation and understood his part in the catastrophe.

He would have liked to apologise. He had all the time in the world.

He could no longer do so: the other rats’ time had run out.