The Clock in My Heart

       

Created By: John

        A clock, with its ever moving hands, weaves a tapestry of time and death, its constant cry screams a slow countdown.

        Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock

        It was deathly quiet save for the constant tick-tock of the clock.

        A bead of sweat fell from Peter Hollis’ brows and landed with a plink on the metallic surface of the table. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat; the man seated opposite of him grinned, showing a set of rotting teeth.

        “Shall we begin?” asked the man, the grin never leaving his face.

        Hollis let out a raspy sigh and took out a handgun from his leather briefcase; his eyes locked on the man before him.

        The man looked old and aged, a rare sight to behold these days, yet somehow, the man invoked a sense of fear, a mad desire to know the unknown. Perhaps it is the hollow eyes that seem to cry with sadness but never let out a tear, that invoked such a fear; or perhaps it is the grin that is turned upwards, seemingly suspended in time.

        “Time is passing, friend.” The man spoke again, the words echoed in the enclosed room.

        “There is no need to rush,” Hollis replied.

        “Perhaps not for me, but I feel that you may need the extra time. After all, time is precious.”

        “Is it? The federation had already given us a cure for it; no one ages, no one is constrained anymore, scholars could spend an eternity learning and teaching, and life could be taken by the throat and throttled by any man or child. Time is gone, destroyed by human intuitions.” Hollis replied slowly, cocking his gun.

        A moment of time passed before the man spoke again.

        “Look at the clock, it was made to measure a concept that men do not control; it was made so that what is known could be used to explain the unknown. How little we know about time and how much we longed to understand and control it, much like how we control the beasts on land, the fishes in the seas, and the birds in the air. But men will never control it; instead, they take it for granted; they lavish their lives without a care in the world and waste their energies on fickle disputes.”

        Silence settled between the two men.

        “Do you believe in God?” the man asked, breaking the silence.

        “Of course,” Hollis replied, “The God of the Federation and of the people.”

        “I believe in a god as well. One who destroys both the gods and the divine, one who destroy worlds and universes; all things answer to him and to him alone.”

        The man continued.

        “A long time ago, there was many gods in the world, a Christian god, a Jewish god, a Muslim god, the gods of the Hindus, the gods of the Buddhists; gods who are great and powerful in the eyes of man. But where are they now? Drawn and broken in fictional novels, taught in schools as ancient mythology. Why did they disappear? Why were they forgotten and lost?”

        The man leaned forward, “Time. It is time; time is what rules the world of the present and the worlds of the past and of the future. Time my friend. It forgets, forgives, heals and kills. Life is nothing without time.”

        The man settled back in his seats.

        Hollis stared hard at the creature before him, nothing he said made sense yet somehow everything rang true; time was abolished many cycles ago, the Federation declared it as a terrible evil that must be eradicated and the masses rejoiced. Following close behind, the federation issued the Proclamation of 2251 which created the standard measurements of cycles. The Federal Cycles and Alterations Administration was created soon after. People were happy, life was good, aging was slowed almost to a complete halt, time was no longer a problem at home, work, or school. How could this be any better? How could something uncontrollable be good? Was it not in the best interest for everyone to abolish such a monstrosity?

        Horris grimaced, a silver spike lodged deep in his occipital lobe vibrated, resulting in flashes of lights that danced across his eyes. The Federation has warranted the man’s death; the verdict: blasphemy. The man looked at Horris and smiled. It was a strange smile, the lips lifted into a curl but never reaches the eyes. Sadness perhaps, or maybe it is pain. Or maybe it is a combination of the two. But it doesn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore for this man.

        Horris lifted the handgun and pointed it between the man’s eyes, the same eyes that spoke of madness now sparkled with sadness.

        “Friend,” the man spoke for one last time, “Remember, you cannot buy a single second back even if you offer the gods in the heavens and the devils in hell each a piece of your own soul. Cherish what is here and not what will come. God, if only I knew...”

        Two shots. It was all it took and where there was once a living man, now lies a broken body.

        It was quiet, deadly quiet. Except for the ticking of the clock. Horris narrowed his eyes, no it was impossible. But.

        Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock

        The clock was shattered, broken into a million pieces from a bullet that passed through the man’s head. And yet.

        Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock

        Horris clutched his heart, his eyes wide open with fear. “Oh god,” he whispered.

        Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock

        “Oh god, no, please, no, oh god, oh god, oh god,” Horris screamed as he pulled at his uniform, clawing at his ticking heart.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following manuscript was taken from the Federation’s archives. It is a recording of a phone conversation between the Secretary of State, James Richardson, and leading computer scientist, Xin Ye Zhang.

        Zhang: “Sir, the Federation AI has completed the final initialization test and is ready to deploy at a moment’s notice.”

        Richardson: “How much time do we have?”

        “A few hours at most.”

        “Goddammit, how did we reach this point where technology is advancing faster than life itself. It doesn’t seem fair that the machines we created will now create the creators.”

        “It is the only way for man to stay ahead of the other machines.”

        “To become a machine and stop time, huh? Doesn’t it seem strange that the only constraint of the human race is time?”

        “Time is certainly an advantage that the machines have over us. But I think it is only natural for one race to hand the figurative baton to another. One that is better suited.”

        Silence.

        Richardson spoke again, a soft voice that carried all of man’s worries and troubles, a voice that quivered with frantic doubts about the future.

        “Sometimes I wonder -- I wonder if my grandson will know. I wonder if he will ever find out about his ticking titanium heart, his compound quantum brain -- I wonder if they will know. If they will ever know -- that -- that they are not human.”