Tick-Tock [ORI2016]

Tick-tock.

The bells chimed on the old grandfather clock towards the back of the room. It had gotten late, and the old man had grown tired. The room had grown musty with the smell of aged wood. The man's hands ached from overuse. His work was his life and his hands his tools.

The man struggled to remember his life, but vividly remembered his father. A man of purpose, respected by his family and peers. The man's father had taught him everything he knew, valuable lessons that shaped him into this wise but withered old man endlessly tinkering over his life's work.

"We lead, we don't meddle," the gruff tone of his father's voice echoed in his mind. It took a long time for the man to fully understand his father's guidance, to understand the family business. "We start what others must finish," his father lamented with an enviable calmness. "Our craft must reflect who we are," the father reminded his son. Each piece like a mirror, an honest reflection of the hand that placed it, the mind that conceived it, and the heart that willed it together.

For generations, the men in his family served a single purpose. A worthy purpose, he had been told. Rewarding even, perhaps.

"What's the point?" The man had nagged his father with such questions, only to receive a begrudged sigh and a stern stare. "We write the questions, but don't craft the answers," his father retorted. It quickly became clear that not all questions need answers.

The subject quickly changed as the boy became enthralled with his father's choice of materials and placement of pieces. Although at times aggravating, his son's relentless questioning exemplified the passion growing inside him and that pleased his father. A tussle of his hair served as a silent cue that sometimes it is better to learn by watching than asking.

The old man loved his work and put that love into his work. Each wheel intricately placed, each gear meticulously crafted. The man adjusted his glasses, wiped the sweat off his brow, and peered down at his progress. The man was equal parts joy and sorrow. All of this time, focused on a single purpose. Almost achieved. Like his father, he created, and like his father he would die.

The more he tried to forget, the more he would remember. His father's death, so long ago, yet so fresh in thought. He did not understand then, and sometimes he wondered whether he understood any better now. "Not all questions need answers," he smirked as he tightened the minuscule screw with delicate precision. The man breathed in deeply, saturated by the dense air. He wondered how his own son would handle his death. Had he taught him the right lessons, provided the same guidance instilled by his own father? Is it enough? Is it ever enough? He shook his head, wondering whether his father had waded away in such doubts, whether his father would be proud of who he had become, what he had spent so long creating.

The man's eyes slowly panned the workshop. He was just a lowly traveler visiting for a lifetime, preceded by endless selflessness and paving the way for those to come. The man couldn't help but feel selfish at times about this selfless endeavor. Shutting out his son as his father shut him out, spending his life at this table surrounded only by his tiny metal friends. The man constantly contemplated his creation, his father's creation, and the inevitable creation of his son. Dedicating his life to create for the purpose of creating.

The man exhaled deeply, holding the completed watch in his now-feeble hands.

Slowly, the man began winding. He suddenly saw the intricacies of his work coming to life. His eyes filled with tears, his heart filled with endless emotion. Each click overwhelmed the man with sadness, anger, joy, happiness, sorrow, excitement, disappointment, doubt, and hope. His vision blurred as the tears draped down his wrinkled cheeks. His whole life sat in his hands, a reflection of himself, a reflection of his father's lessons and his son's beginning journey.

The gears became tough as he continued winding, and the man's tears stopped upon the soft click. The man peered down at the watch, radiating energy, its hands beginning to slide forward.

Tick.

The man saw his creation and he understood. The man's eyes closed slowly, his arms fell lifeless to his side, and he understood.

Tock.

Loved this!

a reply to: ExNihiloRed

I Really Like this EX! Very Good writing!

VERY Good Indeed!!!

Syx...