Mocking of the Clock

Hershel slammed his hands down onto the table, trying to fight back the sobs that racked his body. A haunting silence rang through the flat, the quietness being the loudest sound of all. The ticking of a clock slowly took ahold of the silence and made itself heard. It seemed to echo through the rooms. It taunted Hershel with memories of…Claire. He flinched as a flashback took ahold of him. Just now it had happened; just this afternoon he was there, but he seemed to recall it with such clarity, a clarity that had been lacking while he had been in the moment. He held his head in his hands and clenched his teeth, but it still played. Over and over. Until he was sure he couldn't handle it anymore. His own voice rang in his ears, calling out her name. The quick footfalls of other citizens as they ran away from the building, but none of them were faster than his own. As he tried to shove his way through the police, taken over by an animal ferocity to reach his beloved, he was forced back. Along with a young boy. He realized the futility of it all. He took the crying boy into his steady arms, now shaking. He directed all his frustration and grief into protecting the young lad. The ground shook and a loud screech pierced the air. Hershel turned his swollen eyes to the building, only to widen them in despair. He and the boy were separated by the rushing crowd trying to escape the collapsing building. He did not run. He was not afraid. He only backed away. It was no use. She was gone.

The clock's mocking beat went on. Hershel regained some of his composure, lifting his head shakily off his arms, which relied on the table for support. He cocked his head toward the noise.

Tick…Tock…

His eyes widened; a wild stare appeared in his eyes. The clock went on.

Tick…Tock…

He slowly got up onto his shaky legs. As he made his way towards the noise, he used the wall for support. The clock filled his ears and seemed to inundate his entire psyche. He could still hear it over his labored breathing.

Tick…Tock…

He finally reached it. The grandfather clock, which had before filled him with such admiration and awe, stood before him. It seemed to tower over him, looking down on him as if he was an unworthy opponent. Hershel would not be defeated so easily.

Tick...Tock…

IT was the reason Claire was gone. IT had intentionally piqued her interest as to only lead her to her untimely passing. Hershel would make it pay. He loaded his fist and threw it forward, sending out enough force to shatter the glass casing that protected the pendulum. His hand bleeding profusely, he realized there must be more effective way to take down his enemy. With madness in his eye, he rushed to grab a chair from the living room and proceeded to throw it into the clocks face. Its hands sprung out as it cracked. He kicked it to the ground. The ticking stopped.

...Thud

Hershel's knees collapsed to the floor. He grasped his bleeding hand with the other. Tears streamed in rivulets silently down his cheeks as he stared blankly at the enemy he had conquered. After staring at it intently for many minutes, he began to notice the exposed mechanisms of the clock. He looked at the cogs spread across the floor. Its blood. He looked at its body, once majestic and powerful, now broken. He came a little closer to look at all the delicate parts that made up the bulk of the clock. Its heart. Now silent. Not beating anymore. He took a cog in his hand. He had always wondered why Claire was so fascinated with changing the order of time. Was she so unhappy being with him that she was willing to give her life in order to change the past? Now he realized that was not the case. Time is truly an amazing organism. Always living, always beating with its rhythm. No matter what you do, it's always going to be there and continuing on.

He stood slowly and brushed himself off. He knew the pain would never go away. Nothing would ever change that. But maybe, with time on his side, the grief would dull and Claire, though always to stay in his heart, would be let to rest in peace in his mind. Maybe the continuous flow of time would help set the beating of his own clock back into rhythm.