The ClockA Story by LastMonth Time wasted laughing, crying, staring or making errors is all part of life. Is it really a waste at all..? A man
opened his eyes to the ticking of a clock. The
room was bleached in white, it delivered an almost painful jolt to his brain.
''...Do
you know why you are here..?''
A voice
asked, stoic and low. His husky tone did little to calm him. The man
turned his head to his left, then to his right, whomever this voice belonged to, he was not present in the room.
Tick,
tick, tock. He took
note of the clock. It was set upon the ground before him. The only object in this hollow space. Tick,
tick, tock.
''In an
hour, your daughter will die. Go now, and you may still make it in
time.'' The voice boomed once more, bathing the room in its presence. Almost as if it came from nowhere, and everywhere at once. A voice without an owner. Was his mind playing tricks on him?
Colors
and sights blended into one, his feet could no longer reassure him that he was
standing on solid ground. His temples ignited with searing, hot pain. Everything spun and turned into a mess. Was he about to throw up his lunch..? -----------------------------------------------------------
''...Get
outta the way! Damn it!'' The man's eyes shot open. It was not the ticking of a clock. He was awake from a slumber of a sort, yet he was standing on his feet. ''Are you freaking deaf?! Haul your a*s!'' It was a rather burly man, carrying luggage, trying to nudge him without actually shoving him. He... He was daydreaming..? Did he just fall asleep in the middle of this place..?
Shoving,
yelling, a bustling airport. He had no time to waste. An Airport, he knew where
he was. He remembered the signs from his last visit on thanksgiving. There was
no time to waste.
The man
frantically fingered his pockets, there was no wallet there. He couldn't get a
Taxi. His blood boiled and the veins throbbed within his arms and legs. The
pounding in his chest became insufferable when his body acted without command
from the mind. He started running.
A man
running within one of the busiest airports in the country was not going to go
unattended, or without notice. Security guards sprung to the scene as if
shot from a catapult. ''…Hey you! Stop right there! Why are you running..?!''
He
didn't have time to explain. And who
would believe him..? What if this was all in his mind..? Could
he be daydreaming about all of this--- He ought to stop. The man planted his
feet at the ground and spun around to meet the offended guards.
''..I'm
sorry.. I don't know what came over me'' The bigger of the two tackled him to
the ground with force, releasing the valve in his stomach and with it all of
his oxygen. A groan of disagreement was not late to arrive. ''..I give.. I give, I'm
sorry..!'' He pleaded but they already had him in cuffs.
Everything
else was a blur. But there was something, all that while, tucked neatly at the
back of his mind. He could almost swear that the ticking was still there. Weak,
faded but maddeningly present. The Guards begun to rummage through his
belongings, they removed his coat and emptied his pockets. The Wallet was there
after all, how irresponsible of him. He could've avoided all of this.
''..What's
that, pretty fancy.'' The smaller one croaked with surprise, examining a small
object. It was round and golden, with a long chain linking it from one end to
another in a loop meant to be wired around a coat's button. A clock.
The
man's eyes nearly left their sockets. It wasn't a daydream. The clock was there
all the time. And the ticking, what was a soft, nearly inconsequential
background note was now an insufferable and blatant ticking. Tick,
tick, tock.
He
leapt as if shot out of a cannon, with his hands cuffed behind his back, his
mobility was not as hindered as it could've been. Instincts overwhelmed his
mind, goading him into mad acts, and he crashed into the guard. The unsuspecting
victim collapsed into the ground, the clock flipping in the air in what
appeared to be slowed motion.
With the
fervor of a madman, he clenched his teeth around the clock, catching it with
skill not unlike that of a hound trying to fetch a stick. Once more the heart
forced itself on the mind, and the thought of the 'Dream' being true, with all
it's consequences followed drove him to run as fast as he could.
Tick,
tick, tock. His
muscles were crying for rest, but the clock won't stop. Neither could he. Tick,
tick, tock. Feet
became numb, eyes weary and throat dry. But he kept going. Her house wasn't
that far away. Tick,
tick, tock.
He was
being followed; at least half a dozen guards trailed him while flailing their
batons. Tick,
tick, tock.
He saw
her. It was her back, but he knew it was her. She was carrying her newly born
child, a beautiful son with cerulean eyes and wheat colored hair. The little
one turned to him, waving his hand. Tick,
tick, tock.
It was
almost time, the pain was gone, the weariness was lost, all replaced with hesitant
relief. He was
there in time. He doubled over and took all the breath he could before shouting
at her the top of his lungs.
''...Swe---'' Little
attention did he pay to the blistering lights and the speeding truck as it
blindsided him. Tick,
tick..... Tock.
------------------------------------------------------------------- A young
woman opened her eyes to the ticking of a clock. The room was bleached in white, it delivered an almost painful jolt to her brain.
''...Do you know why you are here..?'' © 2016 LastMonthAuthor's Note
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Added on June 10, 2016Last Updated on July 16, 2016 Tags: Time Author
LastMonthTiberias, The Southern Galil, IsraelAboutI like writing, I suppose. English is not my native tongue, I picked it up at school and mostly improved it through computers. In my early 20's and would appreciate thoughtful and impactful review.. more..Writing
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