Time & Clock

Story Of Time

What you need to know about Time is that she is a bitch. Time never waits for you even if it's for something important, but you will inevitably find yourself always waiting for Time. She never apologizes, never bothers to give excuses and always skips steadily ahead - she always assumes you will forgive her. 

From the moment you were born, Time has always been there. You just never noticed. She was there when you took your first step, when you sneakily cheated during that Math exam - but she never noticed you either. Somewhere during primary school, while sitting cross-legged on a concrete floor, you learnt about her and Clock, her fat, round friend.

Clock was cool and all. She was the first that truly loved you and tired all kinds of ways to get closer to you. First, she held your hand, hugging your skin with two leathery (sometimes plastic) limbs ; she sometimes even dressed up to suit your fetish for sharp, digital numbers. Then, she got a new shell and doubled up as your closest companion sitting right there in your pocket and called herself Phone. 

But you never stopped thinking of Time. Despite Clock's attempts to love you, all you did was to use her, to find and talk to Time. Eventually, Clock left you, replaced by a newer Clock. And another. And another. Time however, was always there. But she was still the same - still as cold as ever. 

"Time doesn't care for me," you thought.

"Not at all."

Then one day it happened.

Time stopped. Very briefly. She had tripped over a Moment, a strange kind of invisible rock. Falling on her knees, Time began to bleed. She hid her gaze from you. As you reached to offer your helping hand (the other was holding a melting cone of ice cream) , she pushed it away. She got up briskly and continued walking. You followed her fervently, asking her to stop for a minute to dress her wounds, but she gave you the usual awkward silence.

But soon after that, things began to change. Time was walking faster and faster. With each step she took, more and more blood was dripping out of her. Like tiny seeds, they planted themselves on the road. 

Her stoic face began to show pain, veins started to show themselves in her calves. You couldn't help but feel sorry for her. But you could not understand her. Neither could Clock (the 26th) or your parents. Just as you were wondering whether to grab her frail hand, Time shrieked. Before you could react, she ran. With renewed vigour, she raced aross crowded streets as you struggled desperately to keep up. 

You ran for years. Hellish blisters formed on your feet and wrinkles flourished on your face. Your mind weakened. Dreams came and died. Somewhere along the way, Clock (the 109th), collasped from exhuastion (not that it mattered). The world was seen in blurs. You passed many extraordinary places. A town with vaguely familar houses. A city filled with faceless people. Yet the only thing you could see (and hear) was Time - the steady thuds of her foot on the concrete, as well as the disturbing trail of blood she left behind - as if for you to follow. 

And then finally, Time stopped.

But so did you, lying several few years behind.