Bring Us the Stars

by

Benjamin Darnell

I never understood why Albert kept that old pocket-watch. It was an ugly thing. Its face was crushed beyond repair, and its gears were stiff and lifeless. I was always the one who had to keep track of the time.

Dammit Albert, why do you always have that clock on you? When did it start? What does it mean? Surely it means something. No, wait, don't tell me. I can figure this out. What do clocks do? They tell time, of course. It's their gears and cogs that keep them going. Those are the organs that keep them alive. Time never stops. It can't. Except in death, I suppose. For one person.

But even then... not really.

Still, your clock doesn't work, does it, Albert? Why do you wear a clock that doesn't work? What are you trying to say? Has time stopped for you? Are you just another wandering soul, trapped between this life and the next, a mere whisper of a memory of your former self?

Perhaps there's some sentimental reason. I know how you humans love your sentiment. Hm... wow. Funny, I'm not sure when I stopped thinking of myself as human. It hasn't been that long since... well, I've moved on anyway.

But I'm not done with you yet, Albert. Why the lifeless watch? Let's see... if my father had a favorite pocket watch, and he left it to me when he passed on, I like to think I'd wear it in remembrance of him. But then, would I have it tick again? It'd be like the echo of a heart that once beat but now is forever silent.

Or would it be frozen? A dead man's dead heirloom.

Personally, I think I'd have it tick.

A person is like a clock. A collection of moving parts driven by rhythm.

Tick-tock tick-tock.

Thump-thump thump-thump.

We are all painfully aware of time's passing, because our time is limited. But we spent our time well, didn't we, Albert? I can remember...

#

"It's time to go down. They'll start rounds soon." I would say it at 3 am—Albert wanted me to always remind him at 3 am.

"Bugger that. If they would just get some bloody sleep instead of obsessing over us night after night, maybe they wouldn't be so pissy in class every day."

Albert would come anyway. He always did. But not before turning the hands on his pocket-watch to pass 24 hours. Then, he would look to the sky and say, "Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad." Then, turning to me, "let's to dock the ship then."

We weren't all orphans, but most of us were. The Home raised us to be a family. They took us from the street dirty, cold, and unwanted. It didn't matter how young. They even gave us uniforms, to remind us of the life we'd left behind and of the future that could be ours. The shoes were shined, the ties were straight, the coats were pressed, the buttons were polished. And if you carried a watch in your pocket, it had better be polished as well. As we grew older, we were given duties to help with bringing up the youngest. I changed my first diaper when I was twelve. Always, time moved on. Always, the Great Clock ticked.

We weren't all sick, but a lot of us were. Doctor Cara ran a tight ship, and the hospital wing hummed with industrial efficiency.

"You do not have my permission to be drifting off anywhere, none of you! You hear?"

We heard her. We all heard her. I just wish more of us had listened. I helped bury my first corpse at fourteen. It was a part of life at The Home. Everyone helps. Everyone gets their hands dirty. Everyone stays a family.