One hapless day, the second hand of Allister's pocket watch choked. It seemed merely a simple cough, just a sniffle. But, is it not true that simple coughs can also simply turn to more complicated death rattles? (This question should be read in equal parts literal and rhetorical and answers to the question should, of course, be given in equal doses of both.)
One does not always notice these changes, the stutters that turn to coughs that turn to chokes that turn to rattles that turn to complete stoption (For lack of a or in place of a better word.). There is no one to fault in these moments that happen in the darkness of a pocket when the lid is clasped shut. It is hard enough to hear a cough from behind a brass lid, much less a rattle. And so it was, that Allister tugged the chain and pulled the watch from his pocket to unclasp the brass lid and reveal the time that had long since expired.
Now, there are moments that are born of necessity and there are moments that are born of inspiration. And one can not forget that there are also moments that are simply born. And, as Allister looked at the watch (though there were causes to reason-namely, but not limited to a lack of money to fix or replace the watch), a moment was simply born.
He would walk the world not on a mission, but simply as one walks the world throughout one's time. And when asked or when wondering himself, Allister would tug the chain, pull the watch from his pocket, unclasp the brass lid, and consult it's face for the answer. And the answer was always the same. To people late for a meeting, to children late for curfew, to people searching for conversation, to people waiting for trains, to people up and down the prime meridian and left and right of the equator. People would awake and people would sleep. The sun would set, the sun would rise, the sun would sit at angles of forty-five and thirty-two.
But, to Allister and to everyone who happened to ask him, from that last tick onward, it would always be three fifteen.
One does not always notice these changes, the stutters that turn to coughs that turn to chokes that turn to rattles that turn to complete stoption (For lack of a or in place of a better word.). There is no one to fault in these moments that happen in the darkness of a pocket when the lid is clasped shut. It is hard enough to hear a cough from behind a brass lid, much less a rattle. And so it was, that Allister tugged the chain and pulled the watch from his pocket to unclasp the brass lid and reveal the time that had long since expired.
Now, there are moments that are born of necessity and there are moments that are born of inspiration. And one can not forget that there are also moments that are simply born. And, as Allister looked at the watch (though there were causes to reason-namely, but not limited to a lack of money to fix or replace the watch), a moment was simply born.
He would walk the world not on a mission, but simply as one walks the world throughout one's time. And when asked or when wondering himself, Allister would tug the chain, pull the watch from his pocket, unclasp the brass lid, and consult it's face for the answer. And the answer was always the same. To people late for a meeting, to children late for curfew, to people searching for conversation, to people waiting for trains, to people up and down the prime meridian and left and right of the equator. People would awake and people would sleep. The sun would set, the sun would rise, the sun would sit at angles of forty-five and thirty-two.
But, to Allister and to everyone who happened to ask him, from that last tick onward, it would always be three fifteen.
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