The Man Who Wanted To Stop Time

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Seconds, minutes, than hours flew by. With every passing second, minute and hour he felt just a little bit older, a little more faded, a little more lost, and a little more like dust gathering in the attic. He wished, if only for a minute or a mere second that he could stop time and revel in memories sweet, pleasant, and past. He had so much yet to learn, so much to give.

Tick tock went the clock. Hitting him hard and cold. The day had only recalled vague memories, bittersweet at best, which rushed by, then, like the slow, even tick-tocking of the clock.

He would have cried, then, if time hadn’t turned his tears to dust.

Instead, he left, wanting to, needing to get away from the slow, even tick-tocking of the clock.

The door clicked shut behind him.

He roamed the streets, like a lost spirit. He roamed like a beggar with nowhere to go.

The shadows lengthened, meeting one another in a kiss, a wild dance.

Lavender tangoed across the horizon, with its arms wrapped around its partner, obsidian black. They fell into each other, then, drifting away slowly, mixing into one, united. They danced, in a waltz now, in-between the stars, sliding down the Milky Way, across the many oceans, across the world, until they would end up back where they had started, at the horizon still dancing away.

He roamed, still. Lavender, along with obsidian black having fled the skies, long ago, though, obsidian’s long, long, robe, which stretched across the many oceans, still remained, the stars glittering through.

Time had not stopped. The big clock tower reminded him, breaking the silence.

He breathed, angrily, cursing the slow, even tick-tocking of the big tower clock that was slowly driving him mad.

He wished to stop time, then and there, like he did everyday, but he was like the man in his dreams that wanted to stop it, but never could.

He quietly walked back home, giving the world a slow smile that cracked his face, a smile that hadn’t been used in a long, long time, a smile that haunted, dusty with time.

The door clicked shut behind him, once again.

He threw out the antique clock, not caring what happened to it.

It was silent. Finally.

He smiled, sitting on an old rocking chair, his eyes closed, scrap booking memories, sweet, pleasant and past. One by one, locking then away in the back of his mind, to be looked at another day.

Outside his door, time flew by.





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Joanna said...
Jul. 25, 2009 at 11:28 pm
Oh my goodness. Your story is wonderful. The words you used to describe the setting evoked the senses and made everything appear so clear. I did get a little bit confused at one point -- I can't see where the "man in his dreams" comes in. Still, it's amazing.
 
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