Friday, April 25, 2014

Ticking Clock



Ticking Clock

            The ticking of a clock is not something you normally notice, but when you are alone, it is the little things that catch your attention. But at that moment, with the sheets wrapped around my legs, it was the clock that captivated me. It is amazing how long one can listen to a clock tick, imagining the inner mechanism, especially when a distraction is welcome.  For distraction is a beautiful thing to someone who is distressed. Sluggishly, I pulled the entangled sheets from my body, experiencing a cool rush of air on my now uncovered legs. With a hunched back, I walked by a disheveled mess of clothes and through incandescent waves of the sunset’s last rays seeping through cracks in the shutters. Sunlight whose ethereal beauty did not register in my disturbed mind.  Normally, food is an excellent way to redress a situation, but on occasion, a person can feel a pain so searing that even the most nourishing form of comfort fails.
            “What am I to do?” I whispered to myself. No one else was in the house to hear these words, but paranoia persisted in my mind. Because if someone did hear, I would have to explain what it was that plagued me to such an extent. And then it would all be over. Slowly, I mustered the energy to prepare a meager meal, forcing myself to masticate the flavorless food and swallow it. Even in a completely healthy body, an unhealthy mind can bring upon the symptoms of a horrid illness. All I wanted to do was to sleep, but the full heat wave of guilt would doubtlessly chase me there as well. I looked at the Rolex watch, perched in total aesthetic perfection on the mantelpiece, a perfection marred by the absence of any ticking. The numerous functions on the wondrous mechanical machine had ceased to operate.  The timepiece was nothing that I could afford, yet it lay on a cloth, in my possession. Two days earlier, hours before I attended a party, the watch had functioned to the caliber of the finest Swiss horologists. I had been admiring it on my friend’s wrist, and inquired about it.
“Oh, this,” my friend asked, trying to appear casual. “This is something I am really proud of…”
He went on to list a model number too long to remember, the various functions too many to list, as well as the purity of the platinum and gold used to construct the watch. By the time his explanation had concluded, I was brimming with admiration for the intricacy, bordering on art, of the jewelry that lay on his wrist.
            Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Hey, could I wear that tonight?”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
            “Never mind, I’m sorry. I just really…”
            “No, it’s fine. Yeah… Sure, you can wear it.”   He unclasped the watchband, gingerly, as if damage could come to his prized possession from this simple act. Slowly, he handed the horological masterpiece to me, and I placed it on my own wrist, in wonder.
            “Thanks... Thank you…I…” 
            That was all that I could muster. Two hours later I was at the party, a tumultuous crowd of people jostled me around. After a few moments of this, I felt an immense urge to distance myself from the abundant bodies. Once on the edge of the crowd, finally with enough air to breath freely, a drunken fool threw me from my feet, whereupon my wrist smashed into a table. Instantly, my attention went to the watch. On the outside, it bore no scars from the beating, but the seconds hand had ceased to move. I left the party in a state of panic, driving around in confusion. Eventually, I found myself in front of a store, characterized by a dirty sign that read “Wersten’s”, in the seediest neighborhood I had ever been in. Inside, there was a row of watches. I showed the cashier mine.
            “Do you have something like this?” I was nearly crying from desperation at this point.
            “Oh, yeah we got a bunch of those.” He replied.
            My relief was visible when he pulled an identical timepiece out from the cabinet. The price was much too low for a Rolex watch, but much exceeded what I could normally afford. The following sequence of events was predictable, I bought the watch and, while sweating profusely while my nerves were doing somersaults, I presented it to my friend. I felt a great relief when he accepted it, a relief that lasted for the remainder of the day. At dusk, I again heard the ticking of my bedroom clock and was reminded of the disconcerting deed I had performed.  Now, I wallowed in the putrefaction of my own guilt. My morality was at stake. Would I act like a shallow fellow who was only concerned about what others perceived me to be, or did my own self-respect matter more? The first option tempted me, like the vibrant pink in the center of a Venus flytrap, for what self-respect could I salvage after I had condemned myself from the start with my terrible deed. Yet, even if I could salvage just a little respect, would that mean more than the entire world’s perception of me? I walked into the bathroom and stared into my own bloodshot eyes. Examining the face of someone who I had seen many times before without disdain, yet now I felt immensely repulsed by. Yes, repulsed by myself. I had sunk so low that even my own morality separated itself from me. I grabbed my coat, and rushed outside. Maybe the fate of my soul could be repaired.
            I drove to my friend’s house. As soon as he opened the door I blurted, “That watch on your wrist. It’s fake!”
            “Aww man how did you know?”
            “What?” I replied.
“Yeah, I got it over at a shop called Wersten’s a couple days ago.”

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5 Comments:

At April 25, 2014 at 1:21 PM , Blogger Unknown said...

Great job. Excellent vocabulary and descriptive language, as well as having a good ending. Nice hook too, it really drew me in. It was a good example of showing not telling because I felt like I was there with you when you were driving around, buying the watch, listening to the clock, etc. Overall, a great, captivating story that was interesting to read.

 
At April 25, 2014 at 1:23 PM , Blogger Unknown said...

This is a really cool and interesting piece. The ticking is a very nice way to pull the reader through the story and the internal conflict of the main character was really well written. You "showed" through out the work very well, and it was really an interesting read. I liked it a lot, well done!

 
At April 25, 2014 at 1:27 PM , Blogger Unknown said...

I love the sensory detail you use to describe everything.

 
At April 25, 2014 at 1:28 PM , Blogger Unknown said...

There is never a dull moment. You do a great job of captivating the reader.

 
At April 25, 2014 at 2:02 PM , Blogger Unknown said...

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