The Ticking Fate [Miniature]

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Abstract

rive growth, sparkle ambitions, and keep them in check with the real world. Building a clock big enough for everyone to see would, in theory, result in more committed citizens. And so, having no wife nor a child to distract him from his mission, he started on a much longer journey he ever envisioned.Some say planning is the hardest part of a task. The old man would disagree: While planning might be one of the most important ones, the end part of the project is the hardest. That’s where all the doubts and fears start to crawl your mind, blind your fair judgment. That is the part that needs the most effort, even though the job is almost done.He was lucky his friend worked at the dumpster. Otherwise, he would’ve never been able to obtain so much material so quietly. You could say no hero is ever created without a touch of luck. So ironic, isn’t it? And so, he built and built and built, until his hands wrinkled like the waves of the sea; until his forehead turned as bronze as the one he was minting. And when all that was left of him was skin over bones, and at some places not even, he was finished. All he had to do now was to straighten the clock and start the engine.By the end of the day, the clock was straight and the whole to

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wn fell on their knees in praise.The old man started the machine, and the first tick was heard. Oh, the goosebumps that first tick caused in every citizen, the whole town. And the old man felt them all.He went back on to the ground, grabbed himself a chair right in front of the clock, opened the can of beer he had saved for this glorious moment, and as soon as he had the first sip, the clock stopped.The old man froze as he felt the shiver running down each citizen’s spine, the whole town’s. Before he managed to phrase the question the answer came to him, a final laugh from the devil. So the old man stood up, took the chair and put it back where it belonged, slowly climbed the hugest clock and slid through the hole leading to the engine.In mere seconds the clock started turning again, and again the old man felt the goosebumps of the whole town. But he never saw it. He never saw their happy faces. He never knew if they really enjoyed it, if they really looked at it, if they really praised it for years to come. He was stuck back in the engine of the clock, turning the wheels forever to come. The clock this big needed too much energy and the steel-made batteries just couldn’t ever be enough.</article></body>

Nothing great comes easy

He knew it wouldn’t be easy. He also knew he had no other choice but to try. The city wasn’t small. It was stretched out for around 400 miles from each side. The idea was to build the huge clock at the border of it, not in the middle. That way everyone could see the time from any part of the town, always. Since the town was round as a clock itself, he figured building it near the dumpster would be best. That way he wouldn’t have to carry the huge clock from one place to another. It took him 3 years of sketching out the dimensions and finding the right material for the clock. He finally went with bronze, with lots of engravings and tiny sculptures on and around it.

The old man wanted to keep his vision a secret: The only town in the world with a clock big enough for every eye. Time, he thought, was the best device to drive growth, sparkle ambitions, and keep them in check with the real world. Building a clock big enough for everyone to see would, in theory, result in more committed citizens. And so, having no wife nor a child to distract him from his mission, he started on a much longer journey he ever envisioned.

Some say planning is the hardest part of a task. The old man would disagree: While planning might be one of the most important ones, the end part of the project is the hardest. That’s where all the doubts and fears start to crawl your mind, blind your fair judgment. That is the part that needs the most effort, even though the job is almost done.

He was lucky his friend worked at the dumpster. Otherwise, he would’ve never been able to obtain so much material so quietly. You could say no hero is ever created without a touch of luck. So ironic, isn’t it? And so, he built and built and built, until his hands wrinkled like the waves of the sea; until his forehead turned as bronze as the one he was minting. And when all that was left of him was skin over bones, and at some places not even, he was finished. All he had to do now was to straighten the clock and start the engine.

By the end of the day, the clock was straight and the whole town fell on their knees in praise.

The old man started the machine, and the first tick was heard. Oh, the goosebumps that first tick caused in every citizen, the whole town. And the old man felt them all.

He went back on to the ground, grabbed himself a chair right in front of the clock, opened the can of beer he had saved for this glorious moment, and as soon as he had the first sip, the clock stopped.

The old man froze as he felt the shiver running down each citizen’s spine, the whole town’s. Before he managed to phrase the question the answer came to him, a final laugh from the devil. So the old man stood up, took the chair and put it back where it belonged, slowly climbed the hugest clock and slid through the hole leading to the engine.

In mere seconds the clock started turning again, and again the old man felt the goosebumps of the whole town. But he never saw it. He never saw their happy faces. He never knew if they really enjoyed it, if they really looked at it, if they really praised it for years to come. He was stuck back in the engine of the clock, turning the wheels forever to come. The clock this big needed too much energy and the steel-made batteries just couldn’t ever be enough.