THREE HUNDRED WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #1 -- Victory for Boneman!

[slack]

Cold Hands

Sunlight had begun to filter through the window as Martin helped his wife to her chair at the kitchen table. The trip from the bedroom was always slow-going, like a great journey through difficult terrain, but Martin was careful not to rush her. He simply mimicked her small, careful steps until she was safely seated at the table.

She looked up at him and for a moment studied his face as though he were a stranger. He gave her cold hand a gentle squeeze and took a seat at the table beside her. She closed her eyes and smiled blissfully in the direction of the sun. Words, he knew, were unnecessary. It would be some time before she would understand.

He smiled at the thought of finally having more time. Soon she would be warm again, young and strong again, and, most importantly, free of the disease.

He had found a way, like he said he would. Still, questions nagged at him.

Now that it was over, and the genesis clock had fulfilled its purpose -- existing now as a mess of circuitry and wires -- only silence remained, and he found himself pondering just one question:

At what cost?

He didn't know for sure, or even if he cared. Years off his own life so that they could be together, as it used to be, seemed like a fair trade. He could learn to live with the side effects. A life shrouded in loneliness was a far worse fate.

A soft giggle pulled him away from his thoughts. He looked up to see her flaunting a milk mustache on her lip. She pointed a shaky finger at his own. He smiled, wiping it clean, and saw along the length of his finger a thick line of blood.

 

[paranoid marvin]

Until The End Of Time


With work on the chronometer complete, the clockmakers fled the citadel.

"Build the device to our exact specifications and we will fill your pockets with gold" the elders of the Sect had promised.

It was only later, once they had been working amongst the Sect's bretheren for several months, that they found out the reason why they had been asked to build such a strange, but undoubtedly magnificent, timepiece.

"The End of Days shall surely come when the forces of Time, the Earth and the Heavens are brought into perfect alignment at the rising of the sun" ancient scriptures had declared, and it was believed amongst the elders that this clock was indeed the device that would bring about such a 'perfect alignment'.

After several years of intense labour the work was complete and, laden down with the promised gold, the two men prepared to leave for home. Quite why these people wanted to bring about the 'End of Days' was unclear, but what was certain was that they were more than a little crazy; and what would happen when the sun rose and nothing happened? They had to hurry, sunrise was only hours away ...

Once outside the walls of the citadel, they headed West towards a nearby village; upon reaching the outskirts, the leading of the two men felt the first warming fingers of the rising sun on his neck. Calling out to his trailing colleague that they had better hurry, he received no reply and so once again hailed him. Receiving no response for a second time he turned exasperatedly, and saw his companion facing not West but East ; not into the warming yellow glow of the rising Sun but into a blood-red orb whose tentacles were already reaching menacingly out across the pale blue morning sky.

 

[TheEndIsNigh]

A Picture Tells a Thousand Words.

Chancellor Morgan swept aside the guards outside the
King’s apartments and strode inside.

“Sire, Forgive this intru…”

The King was alone; his head in his hands. Morgan feared
the worst. Looking up at the Chancellor, the King recovered
his composure.

“Morgan, my old friend; it is even worse than we thought.
The Humans have a fearsome weapon. They have given us
one month to surrender. There, there on the table. You see it.
Morgan, we must also have this weapon or we are lost.”

On the table was an image of what appeared to be a complex
sundial. Morgan looked aghast.

“By the Gods sire, you saw this?”

“Yes Chancellor and they will use it. We face annihilation”

In his office, Morgan convened the magicians, assigning
each their tasks.

Gerweld, the head magician, suggested surrender.

“Lord Chancellor, with this they must control time itself. We
should surrender; accept their terms”

The others concurred.

“Fools! While we have blood in our veins we will never be
slaves to those foul creatures. We have one month; get to
work. The sooner we have our own 'Clock', the sooner we
can counter their attack.”

At month end they assembled in the great courtyard; the
King was present. Gerweld spoke.

“Lord we have succeeded. We can control time.”

The King looked puzzled.

“Sire, pull this lever and human time will stop.

“Stop time. What do you mean?” asked the King.

Morgan stepped forward. “It is as you demanded Lord. This
is the ultimate wea…”

The sky flashed iridescent blue; everything stopped and
then disappeared.

On the wall of the Oval Office hangs a new picture. It shows
a castle courtyard with creatures gathered around a strange
device. In a case nearby, there is an odd looking camera.

 

[Chaoticheart]

Sacrifice

The first bell chimed. Crusted eyes were forced open, staring up at the great clock. The eyes shifted, examining their body. It was a wretched sight, grey and withered. Had the chains holding him been less secure, the figure believed he might have flinched.

Why, He wondered, staring down at his crippled form, am I always surprised? Not once has it differed.

Another peal of the bell, the third, he realized as two forms materialized before him. They were near identical, hairless, muscular and gold skinned, even the simple white robes they wore were the same; The only thing that allowed one to distinguish between them was the eyes, on one they were blazing white, on the other, dark as the void.

‘Come,’ the light eyed one said to his brother, a nondescript sword materializing in his hand, ‘it is time.’

‘Wait.’ Replied the dark eyed brother, though he, too, now held a sword. Drawing close to the bound form, he gently brushed a gaunt cheek, unable to keep sorrow from his features. ‘Father, are you sure?’

Cracked lips, unused for millennia, struggled to move. Seeing the distress in his fathers’ eyes, Light-eyes placed a hand upon his siblings shoulder. ‘It was his choice to make, do not make this more difficult than it need be’.

Still Dark-eyes hesitated, though time was fast running out. Summoning the last of his might, the bound father roared ‘Now!’ His roar quickly turned into a shriek as twin blades tore into his chest, unleashing waves of power that consumed his crippled physique.

Looking down upon his father, now a youth, trembling in agony, Dark-eyes spoke ‘Thus dawns a new age. They owe him much.’ Turning to his brother he asked simply ‘Why?’

Light-eyes looked at him curiously, ‘For Love’.

 

[No One]

The Gnomon
​

They call me Gargoyle.

Ignorance ever was and ever shall be their greatest failing.

It was ignorance that gave the old ones, long dead, the fear that saddled their hatred. Those old ones, who called me monster, devil, and yes, spat the word gargoyle as ‘twere cursed. Still better that than those cozening fools who called me human, dared dub me friend. How greater the wretchedness to be human for brief times and be exposed by every mirror. All are in the ground now, bent and broken by the circumstance of seasons, while I perch high above, scarce touched.

These new ones invest themselves with superior compassion, understanding. Even now I yen to laugh, but my temperance is my assurance. I have not moved for centuries, nor shall I. Their blindness is my shield, but time is my sword. For my greatest triumph I need only watch. One broken link in the chain of generations is all that stands between a world of life and the wasteland that is my victory.

I watch their feverish species of existence play out under the cycle of sun and moon, the illusion of their happiness, the emphemerality of their youth, their beauty, their vitality. I smile down upon them.

Here now, see these mewling fools, how they stare and grin stupidly at me, never wondering why I was ever perched upon so unlikely a place as this circle of iron. They look, seeing nothing. Tis not my twisted, leering face that they all should see, nor my behorned head, winged back, clawed fingers, or the skin they fancy a stonemason’s work.

No, ‘tis my shadow they should watch. Within it’s revolutions are their lives played out.

Let them call me Gargoyle, for ignorance ever was and ever shall be their greatest failing.

 

[Arkose]

The Wrong Conclusion

Matt tossed handfuls of garlic into his basket.

Months of research in this city, he finally had the evidence. A bat flew into the clock tower the last two nights and each time a black cloaked figure appeared, staring out into the city.

The villagers talked about a vampire and this had to be him. Matt, an amateur paranormal investigator, would prove cryptids are real.

He paid the cashier and headed towards a café near the tower. Sitting outside, he made a garlic sash and wooden cross.

* * * * *

​

In a dark broom closet, at the top of the tower, he sat impatiently. Slowly cracking open the door to see a bat fly in and cling to the rafters above. A doorway appeared below the bat, not a normal door, but a bright blue outline of a transparent door.

The transparent door opened and the black cloaked figure walked through.

Matt rushed into the room trying to catch the vampire off guard.

“Don’t come closer, I’ll kill you,” Matt called out with conviction, holding a spike in one hand and a cross in the other.

The vampire reached up and pulled down his hood. Stone white skin and thinning black hair. He looked malnourished but still menacing.

The vampire raised a device to his mouth. “Specimen 2-C, world 477,” he said calmly.

Matt focused on the vampires’ device, not noticing the weapon in his other hand. A bright flash filled his mind. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t blink, all he could do is watching the vampire walk towards him.

‘Move,’ he thought, but his body didn’t respond.

“I’m not a vampire,” whispered the man.

The time traveler grabbed Matt’s arm, pulling him towards the transparent door.

The bat glided down, transforming into human form, grinning at Matt.

[FONT=&quot]“SON OF A...” the door closed.[/FONT]

 

[cornelius]

The Herald of Time

I run all day, I run all night
I run in darkness and in light
Ever since I left the burr
Forever spinning , never deterred

I cross the circle, I cross time
Down I go and up I climb
Ticking the future, fading the past
my stamina is unsurpassed

The universe holds no secrets for me
I cross it hourly, daily, yearly
Seasons passed, seasons to come
In perpetuity , I am alum

The number twelve, oh it is key
In trying to understand me
but there is more than meets the eye
For every tick that's passing by

Now you might say my timescales are dated
All though that would be irony illustrated
for all those numbers on my face
Are eked upon the foundations you perceive of time and space

My four companions stand ever still at my side
I can understand why you’d hate vanity and death personified
But the abhorrence to the Turbaned Turk and Jewish Sir is undeserved
A hate, I hope, time will not preserve

I’ve never bowed down to king nor lord
My hands have cut down more lives than any sword
Yet even though the concepts I demonstrate seem timeless
I feel my own mortality may egress

I'm not the oldest of my kind
But I'm the only working one you'll find
While my eldest brothers are in god's acre
I still (for now) outlive my maker

My cogs are old, and some have rusted
Half my features are moss-encrusted
Yet every now and then, a person comes forth
And makes sure my beauty is restored

Thus each tick brings me closer to my end as well
But when that will be, not even I can tell
I admit, I fear the day
When the last tick will fade me away.

 

[Chel]

After I wrote this, I found that my piece could almost be set in the same universe as Paranoid Marvin's. I chose to post mine anyway, after having written the starts of three other stories that never really clicked for me. With only days left to enter our stories I don't want to risk the deadline by trying to write something different.



Nothing Lasts Forever


Dearest wife,

I hope you will understand why I had to run after reading this letter.

Do you remember all those nights I spent with Grandfather in the tower after Father died? He didn't try to teach me astronomy, but about that damned clock. After all these years of instructing me, I know as little about how to repair it as I do about the stars.

One thing I did learn was to notice when something had to be done – a cog that needed oiling, a spring that needed changing – but I never understood how to know which one of the pieces to clean or change. Now, dear wife, is a time when something needs to be oiled or changed, but Grandfather can't tell me which piece as he is too frail to climb up and look for himself.

Dear wife, I urge you, for your own safety, to stay inside with locked doors on the afternoon of the 16th day of the Twins, for that is when the arms of the clock will spin out of control, and with that, the rule of the Gotsyns will end.

I hope the new rulers will realise what a folly it is to call the clock magic, and to allow only one family to understand it. All it takes is one son, someone like me, who is not smart enough to learn quickly enough from a man who is too old to teach.

When they come to question you, if they do, if they aren't too busy with a rebellion after the Prophecy is fulfilled, the magicians will know you are not lying when you tell them you do not know where I am. It is better this way.

Yours, forever,

Evrett

 

[nixie]

Keeping Time

​

As night descended over the city, thick fog fell. Completely engulfing the clock tower.
Josef the current master of the clock turned to his assistant Michel, "It's time" Without reply Michel summoned the platform that would take them to the face of the clock.

The two men stepped on to the platform, a clap of the hands and it smoothly climbed to the clock face. As they neared their destination, the night sky seemed strangely clear compared to the rest of the city.

Josef, stood before the statue of vanity, Michel before the Jew.

Josef sighs, "Paris, Abraham, Marduk, Babur, awake"

The eyes of the statues open. Paris in his current disguise of vanity, face full of hope
" Josef, have you found away, can we go home"?

Abraham joins in " Please, say yes, 600 years we have been stranded on this backwater planet"

Marduck mumbles " Doubt it"

Babur turns "Shut it Marduk, let Josef speak"

" I'm sorry brothers, I haven't found away. I've only awakened you as It's time to exchange."

Babur nods, " No one blames you Joe. After 600 hundred years you'd think even these primitives would have advanced, Until they discover how to turn wind into fuel we'll have to keep swapping places every 50 years. Where's Landos and Farley "?

"They'll be here"

As he speaks 2 owls descend, they become blurred, shape changing into men before the watchers eyes.

They take their place before Marduk and Babur.

The statues step out, the living take their place.

Stone turns to flesh and flesh to stone. The exchange has taking place.

Abraham's features were now michel's, the new clock master, the others adolescents, he'd need to pick one as an apprentice and the others would leave to continue the search for the way home.










​

 

[Moonbat]

Interspecies Diplomacy

In Prague’s old town square something small and furry stared at the clock. Alongside him something slightly larger but less furry grew increasingly impatient.

“Captain!” First officer Drewberk yelped. The captain ignored him.

“Captain! The war continues; the battle rages on. We should be fighting, not staring at a clock!”

“We are out numbered and out muscled; we can’t survive this onslaught, let alone regroup, rebuild and launch a counter-offensive capable of winning this war. That was your assessment, has it changed?”

“No, but..”

“But nothing, we’re here because we need to find a way to win, before our enemy exterminates us.”

“But how can these primitive primates help? Just look at that timepiece, its archaic.”

“That archaic timepiece is the reason we’re here.”

“!”

“This archaic astronomical clock models not only our star but also the star of our enemy.”

“So?”

Captain Thungle bristled in consternation.

“By altering the clock we can alter our enemy’s star, we can destroy it. We can remove it from the galaxy! We can strike an incalculable blow against them. We can win this war!”

“Am I being stupid or is that utterly incomprehensible?”

“It’s a mixture of the two. You’ve heard of model-dependant realism?”

“Of course, our brains model the world and if that model is accurate we attribute to it the quality of reality, we consider it absolute truth. How does that help?”

“Model-dependant realism is akin to retro-causality modelling; alter the model and we alter reality.”

“Well why not make a model of their star and destroy it ourselves?”

“The level of detailed required is beyond our abilities, these primates have dextrous fingers and opposable thumbs, ugly yes, but invaluable for making intricate models.”

“Arrrghhh!” A lady screamed and, without any hint of interspecies diplomacy, attacked them both with a broom.”

 

[The Judge]

Sun and Moon and Earth


Stars silvered the heavens and comets flashed and leapt across the skies when Sun took Moon to wife.

Dancing round the stars, Moon asked of Sun, “Will you always love me?”

“Always. Till the end of Time.”

“Make me, then, a clock, that Time may never end, and neither will your love.”

So he made a clock across the cosmos, from stars and constellations, from galaxies, and fiery orbs, and everlasting love.


Aeons passed. They lived content and watched their children grow and wander in the heavens, circling their father. Yet Moon herself no longer danced around the stars, but stayed forever at the side of her favourite child, their daughter, Earth.

“My love,” said Moon one star-lit night, “it pains me that our daughter does not know the joy of children. I wish to go to Earth, to show her how to bring forth life.”

And so Moon left her pearled chariot to join her daughter, bringing life to Earth – fish silvered the seas, birds flashed and leapt across the skies, beasts wandered over green lands, circling their mother. Last of all, she brought forth Man and Woman.

Heartsick, lonely, Sun grieved, and he called to Moon. But his pleas were lost amid the babble of the sons of Man. He drew nearer, to call again, but his gilded chariot scorched his daughter, burning scars of desert gold upon her.

So he left his gilded chariot to go to Earth, seeking Moon, his wife. But, lost amid the babble of the sons of Man, he could not find her.

*
​

Ever since, Sun journeys throughout Earth, in every age, in every realm, searching, ever searching.

And in every age, in every realm, he makes a clock, that Moon might know that Time will never end, and neither will his love.

 

[HareBrain]

Pavel and the Horologue


‘Fear the man with the mirror.’

Crouching behind the barricade, rifle clutched in sweating hands more used to schoolbooks, Pavel found his eyes drawn again to the Orloj, his mind to his grandfather’s deathbed.

‘They’re coming,’ said Gregor beside him. ‘The Americans shafted us.’

‘Fear the stealer of all we have.’ Yellowed eyes shone delirious with some terrible secret. ‘Fear the Jew and the Turk, not for themselves but the hate that carved them. But most, fear the mirror-man.’

Clanking its tracks, the Jagdpanther emerged from Jilska Street. Gregor and others readied petrol bombs, waiting for range.

‘Mikulanus cursed the city, and the world. Some say he was elohim. The Orloj does not measure, it governs.’

The tank-commander’s head showed. Pavel gasped: ‘I can get him.’

He stood, aimed. A gun flashed — the punch flung him backwards onto pavement, lying breathless, staring at the Orloj.

The Jew and the Turk looked away. The skeleton stepped down, striking his chimes. But the mirror-man —

The mirror-man saw only himself. Pavel understood. Shaken by bullet-shock, he struggled to kneel, deafened by cries and gunfire, the nearness of the tank, the bursting of flames. Vision misted: the square was covered in blood, of Jews murdered in progroms, of rebels beheaded, and around him were other tanks, not German but marked with the red star, and students dying.

The man with the mirror. Mikulanus’s curse, forever.

Near-fainting, Pavel sighted his rifle. The skeleton neared; the tank roared.

He shot. The mirror broke from the man’s hand.

‘Look!’ shrieked Pavel. ‘Look at your world!’

The man’s eyes widened, horrified. Then he pulled another mirror from within his robe, and his calm expression returned. Pavel blinked, and saw he had missed.

The skeleton’s hand took his. The tank ground on.

 

[GreenKidx]

An Eye for An Eye...

My Bobby was only six when he took ill. His hair fell out, his skin turned ashen an d he coughed until his throat bled. Normally a robust child, he quickly became gaunt and frail.

I called in a multitude of docors; none knew what ailed him. Desperate, I called priests, then mediums. Yet, still Bobby laid dying. Despair took its toll on my health. I spent my morning spilling the contents of my stomach into a basin beside my bed. My days, I spent fighting the fatigue that seemed ever present.Eevenings I praye; to Christ, Buddha, Atropus and any other god I could recall, "No cost is too great, only let Bobby live!"

One evening while I prayed, a god finally answered. The earth shook an d the sky thundered. The god appeared to me as a great, ticking clock. Black and gold with man y hands, symbols and numbers. Above it's face, four statues hovered: a man with a mirror, another a lantern, a third a scroll and a skeleton clutching a cage.

The clock stopped ticking.

The mirror bearer turned his mirror towards me. In the glass I saw myself, 'No cost is too great...'

"Will you pay our price?" The lantern bearer asked.

"Anything!"

The skeleton pointed a crooked finger at me.

"A life, for a life." The lantern bearer spoke again.

Amid a fit of tears, I nodded my acceptance. The scroll bearer scratched a line across his parchment and scrawled something new. Then, the skeleton raised his cage.

A seemingly endless pain racked my gut. Eventually, I collasped into a pool of blood. I was dizzy and exhuasted, but alive. Panicked, I looked towards Bobby.

"He shall live." Declared the lantern bearer.

"But your price...?"

"Paid."

And the clock resumed ticking.

 

[Allanon]

Time Warden

They stare at me and think I’m an adornment on a clock, fools. I watch them. I keep them from harm as the universe rolls out from these dials, spinning its song across the ages as He takes what He wants and wastes the rest. I gave myself so that He wouldn’t take them one by one and this is the thanks I get.

Their ignorance is safety, the less they know of Him the better. If they see this as a clock the dials will remain closed. He doesn’t like it and I can see His influence all around, momentary glances, children mainly as they see more with open eyes. Sometimes I see them looking straight into me and they know, they just don’t quite know enough.

But I can feel my hold slipping, slowly, bit by bit. He won’t be kept at bay forever and then this world will perish too. I will have to search for another to take my place, I just hope I haven’t left it too long. It was different when I came, everyone knew about Him and His plans, what He does and how. We were ready for the burden and could stand against Him. That was long ago and they have all gone.

Perhaps we should have left some with the knowledge of what went before. We thought we were saving them but we may have condemned them.

Through all this the dials are pushing, aching to break free and spill over into this world, He is bored of this place. It’s no longer amusing for him and He wants to move on and recreate things. He needs the space the materials and more importantly the energy, in order to build he must consume.

I must find a replacement soon.

 

[crys]

One for God and freedom, one for Pope and plunder​

The ground trembled as the French heavy horse thundered across the plain. Howitzers peppered their line as it closed in on our position while I, not without fear, waited for the order to fire. The cry of command was finally raised and at point blank range every harquebus, hagbut and handgun emptied its guts into the densely packed cavalry. Although the opening salvo decimated their leading ranks, the sheer momentum of the charge drove the French against our tabor and I lost consciousness when the shock of impact propelled me from my wagon and onto the ground nearby.

On March 23rd, 1430 Joan the Maiden sent a threatening letter to the dissident Hussites, declaring a crusade against them if they failed to return to The Light. The rebels stubbornly resisted the spur and threw her messenger from the tower of the Old Clock in Prague. However when the Maiden escaped from English captivity it enabled her to fulfil her threat and on July 6th her heavily armoured battle of knights and men-at-arms, their shields and lance-pennons resplendent with heraldic fauna, deployed before the walls of the recusant Bohemian town. Against these veterans of the Loire Campaign stood a rag tag army of partisan guildsmen and proto-Protestant peasants, huddled together behind a defensive square of chained carts.

I regained consciousness in the thick of the mêlée. Many knights had been unhorsed and as the flower of French nobility was cut down, with little more than humble farm tools, their remnants rallied on the Maiden’s standard. Whether saint or sorceress, as she made her last stand a carillon of bells mysteriously rang out from the clock tower at the precise moment when years earlier Jan Hus had been martyred in the shadow of the same clock.

 

[Boneman]

Boxing Day Dinner​

He stared up at the clock, turning the phone over and over in his sweaty palm. Checking endlessly as the orbs and hands approached the confluence that would allow him to make the call. He had one chance to change things; to make them right again.

It had been six years; six years of grief after the horror, the hope and hopelessness, and the numb acceptance of the loss. His daughter and grandchildren taken, his wife destroyed by the pain and anguish that weakened and then broke her heart, dying on the dreadful anniversary of their loss. Her grave lay in the churchyard. He’d come here every Boxing Day, looking up at the clock, lost in his own misery, wondering how long he could go on.

Then, three years ago the phone had rung, and he stared mutely at the number that was calling him: his daughter’s. The phone that was lost forever. The phone company must have re-allocated the number. He angrily punched the call button. But the laughing voices of his grandchildren came to him, wishing him Happy Boxing day, and he knew he was losing his mind.

When the chimes struck, the call cut off instantly.

It took him three years to understand. The alignment wouldn’t happen for another thirty years; he’d be dead long before then.

It was time. He dialled the numbers, his hand shaking. It rang.

“Happy Boxing Day, Dad.”
“Caroline!” he shouted. “You have to get off the beach! There’s a tidal wave coming – get back to your hotel, get upstairs, get the children safe!”
“Dad—”
“Caroline, please! Get off the beach!”

The chime sounded. The phone went dead. Then it rang, startling him.

“Dad, where are you? Mum says dinner’s on the table, and the kids are starving.”
“I’m coming home.”

 

[HoopyFrood]

Sign of the Times

She banged her scales on the table. The clank of metal on wood was barely audible even to her.

Sagittarius lay near the door, all four long legs akimbo. He was shouting at Aquarius.

“That’s the second time I’ve slipped on one of your puddles, you drip-”

One half of Gemini twitched and spun abruptly. Behind him, Virgo’s face assumed innocence as she pointed an accusatory finger at a bemused Scorpio.

Leo and Taurus also seemed to be arguing.

“I sit in this seat every time.”

“Should have turned up sooner.”

“I swear, I will eat you...”

A wretched looking Cancer had been cornered by Aries and Capricorn.

“How can you not tell us apart? I have a tail. A fish tail!”

“It was a slip of the tongue. A slip of the tongue!”

She banged her scales again. “Please! A little order!” Finally the noise began to subside.

She sighed. “And can someone help Pisces back in his tank...”

The sploosh of water was her signal to continue.

“This is why I’ve called this meeting. We’re so busy bickering among ourselves that we’ve fallen out of touch.”

She leant further over the table. “Humans have been taking things into their own hands.”

The others looked at each other uneasily.

“Did you even realise they had added a new guy?”

Shocked gasps.

“What?”

“When?”

"Thirteen signs?"

“How dare they!”

“Is he cute?”

“Not the time, Virgo.”

“Who??”

Libra waved an airy hand. “Some guy with a snake. We...don’t need to worry about him”.

Cancer’s claws clicked. “What do we do?”

“We do likewise -- but on our terms. Take a sign and make it ours. One already influential and widely spread.”

“But what -?”

“An apple. An apple with a crescent shaped bite...”

 

[TheDustyZebra]

[FONT=Arial, sans-serif]The Last Thing[/FONT]



Humanity is defined by hubris; the human condition is hope. Or it was.

We always thought that visitors from the stars (providing we didn't do the visiting first) would tour our planet
and stand in awe of our accomplishments.

“Oh,” they would say, “you've done amazing things – you are truly worthy to join us in traveling the universe.”

How could it be otherwise?

Then our visitors arrived.

The tower appeared, portal from the stars, and they came out to see what we were about.

In a spectacular tour of humanity's history, we trotted out our Michelangelo, da Vinci and van Gogh,
Shakespeare, Asimov, Twain and Poe.

My wife, Nobel laureate, showed them Newton, Tesla, Feynman, Fermi, Curie, Einstein.

Not only was it not enough, it was … nothing.

Oh, they agreed that we had a fair handle on our little corner of things. But it didn't matter.
We could not overcome the limitations of our existence, could not travel “outside.”

“We can learn,” said we, eager as puppies.

“Look,” they said, trying to explain in a way we could understand, “can a fish learn to live in the sky?
Can a butterfly learn to live in the ocean?”

They left the portal from the stars, knowing it could never, for us, be a portal to the stars.
Clever as dolphins are, you could park your car in the ocean and be certain they would never drive it out onto land. Ever.

They came, they saw, they laughed, and they left.

Humanity died that day.

Oh, we're still here, but one by one, our best and brightest are taking their lives, dying of broken spirits.
I still tend my wife's grave, but I cannot even look at the tower.

I never knew how final it could be, the death of hope.

 

[digs]

Time and Son

It is odd, to be running out of time in a place where time does not exist. Elsewhere I can spin the slipping-by seconds like thread. I can weave hours and stretch days, send months rolling in reverse, gather centuries in my arms and pluck years like petals from a flower, letting them fall haphazard.

But here we are the guests of strange masters, and I have risked enough in bringing you. For what? I can traverse, spiderlike, the web of aeons, stalking the time-strands, tweaking this and that – but I cannot alter your future. This is nothing more than an exercise in futility. And I dare not linger here.

Oh, but I dream. How I dream for you, my little one. Dreams so large, so full, that galaxies die beneath their bloated weight. Let me tell you what I dream. Let me – no. Our separation approaches. I will tell, instead, of what will happen next, in the hope that some ghost of memory will comfort you with its haunting when I return you to the clamour of time.

It happens quickly, like this: a battered childhood, a lonely adolescence, a bold climb into manhood. A wife, a daughter; the death of one, the hatred of the other. A ragged fall into desolation, a lonely decline, a tormented end. Your life a solitary arc, a neat diagram of the symmetry of loss.

We must return now. To let it begin. Do you hear my beating heart? It is the steady rhythm of time itself. If nothing else, remember this. When the clock ticks or the shadows lengthen, remember my resonant heartbeat; know that I held you, pitied you, and loved you, and that, in my own way, I have taken this moment and made you endless.

 

[Ursa major]

One Astronomical Aspect of Time​

(or: Is Horror Logical?)​

“Why are we here?” Emm asked for the seventh time since they’d left Václavské náměstí.

“Did you speak? I’m filtering out repeated questions. Besides, it should be obvious.”

So they were here to act out another of Bea’s almost countless puns. One soon uncovered: Emm didn’t have to review more than a tiny fraction of what she knew about Praha. “The clock.”

“That and something else. Someone else.”

“We’re not meant to interact with the locals. Are other Mechanisms here?”

“No,” Bea said, “but don’t worry. The someone has been dead for centuries.”

“Not Josef Čapek?”

“Correct. Nor Karel. We’re interested in the myth that Moyses Baruch Auerbach propagated.”

“I’m not interested, so how can We be?”

“You are not We.”

Which might be partially true. Emm’s work was not for sharing with the Hive Mind. Perhaps the firewall wasn’t unidirectional. Then again, while Bea couldn’t lie, she could smuggle untruths into her speech when she thought she was joking.

“It hardly matters,” Bea said. “We’re here to prepare for the Final Phase.”

Pražský orloj came into view. “The passage of time has always fascinated the locals,” Bea continued. “And Us. Even if we had time travel, we could not see Time’s beginning. You, though, will see Time’s ending.”

“I’ll be permitted to complete my work?”

“All our spare power is yours. When we perish, you will inherit everything. The last usable energy in this universe will be yours.”

“Wonderful. When shall my Team sleep?”

“You mustn’t sleep. Your clocks will slow, as we cannot let you become insane. But you must experience it all, alone. We have power for but one of our creations.”

“But We are One?”

“You are Emet. An emet.”

As Emm grasped the truth, the world accelerated. Pražský orloj’s dials became a blur.