A Tick Tock Life

Reaper of Time

    As I sat in my bed, the comforting sound of ticking clocks engulfing me, my mind began to wonder about my day. Life Horologists like me never know our schedule until the exact moment the clock ticks it's last. We are some of the more, ah, disgraceful Life Horologist. You could even go as far as to say we're even at the bottom of the food chain. Unlike the Médecins, we can't repair a human's Time Clock. And I'm sure glad we aren't like the Psicologos who have the grueling job of convincing you humans we don't exist. My kind of Life Horologists are very rare, I'm a Reaper, a Reaper of Time to be more exact. We go about our existence, collecting human's Life Clocks as their last moments slip away. As far as I know, there is no one else like me around, and I'm not friends with the other Life Horologists, after all, who would want to be friends with death?

     Throughout the years, humans have mistaken us by many different names. Those who are religious may refer to us as angels of death or other deities who help guide them to their version of the afterlife. Some have even gone as far as to call us Satan or the devil, how flattering. While others just refuse to acknowledge our existence and cannot see us. No matter what you may call us, you will still die and I will still have to collect your clock.

     I almost jumped as the loud squawking of the cuckoo bird came from my antique Engstler clock above my bed. I will never get used to that stupid cuckoo bird, but I've never had the heart to get rid of him. Well, I guess it's time to start my day. I wonder how many people are going to die today. Yes, yes, I know, what a morbid thought for a teenage girl. But even as a Reaper of Time, no matter how many people I watch die, it never becomes easier. Especially if they're a beggar, begging you to "Oh please, spare me! I can't go yet, it's not my time!", how annoying. I had a woman once cling to my pants, sniveling as she wiped her snotty nose on the hem of my jeans, begging me to please let her stay. If I had a heart, it would've gone out to her. But alas, even if I did, there's nothing I can do. I don't decide who dies and when, I have no say over whether you can stay, I'm just here, trying to do my job, and people just can't seem to understand that. 

     Walking down the streets of Alsace, I watch the faces passing by me. It has always amazed me how you humans rush through everything, worried you'll run out of, ahem, time. Life for you is a one way street in the middle of rush hour it seems. I guess it's just hard for me to grasp, even though I was once one of you. Sometimes I wonder if I have a family somewhere who still mourns for the lost daughter or sister. That I have friends who visit my memorial every year with flowers and reminisce about old memories together. That if I ever was alive, I had a life that would be worth living. But I don't think I'll ever know, my earliest memory of anything is waking up in a dark room, a huge grandfather clock looming over top of me, and a voice calling out in the distance "Zara..." it seemed to call, "Your time has come, come join us". From there, the rest is history. I wake up every day in beautiful France and wait for my next assignment to die. 

     Right as I begin to turn down Velary Court, I hear three loud and slow bongs. Like an old Grandfather clock at 2 a.m., when no one is awake in the house, so the sound just echoes throughout the empty halls, seeming to last forever. I wouldn't say I hate my job, but this is always the worst part. I begin looking around for the poor soul about to move on. As a Reaper of Time, it is my job to collect the Clocks of Life inside those who have passed on. Seeing as time is a fickle fellow, and is quite unpredictable, people like me were given the ability to hear the last sounds of life. The last few bongs a clock will make as it runs out of time. As a human breathes their last, running out of time. (Yes, I know, the puns are endless. But living for a long time gets quite boring). It takes me only a moment before I spot her. A young girl, only of the age 8 is my guess. Oh, how I so despise it when it's children! Their wirings are not yet complete, their mechanisms only beginning to grow. But alas, I cannot fall victim to tardiness. For not being on time is quite frowned upon, especially if someone is late for their death. 

     And so, I begin the mindless journey towards her. As I do, I look past the outer layers of her being, and into what really made her who she was. Her thoughts, her memories, her life. This is the most enjoyable part of my job. I always love looking at people and try to figure out just how exactly they have placed the gears of life together throughout their time spent living, and no two are ever the same. Since she is so young still, there is not much to see, however, some of her memories give me pieces of déjà vu, but I shake it off because I have a job to do. It is only mere moments before I reach her. As I reach forwards, to her heart where her clock resides, I watch as the life fades from such young beautiful eyes. It is not long before a tiny wooden box appears in my hands and I place her life clock inside before gently shutting the lid. With my job here done, I begin to back away, sticking around after I've done my job is just disrespectful and well, a waste of time too. 

     However, I can't help but look back at the scene. The young girl's mother collapses to her knees as grief strickens her body, her now-dead daughter clutched tightly to her chest. Soon after, chaos ensues, some people stand shell shocked on the sidewalk while others rush to try and help the little girl. A tear begins to form in my eye and I  know it's time to move on, you stupid humans, you die so quickly and easily when there was still so much time left for you to enjoy. 

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And that's the end of chapter one, 1,140 words!!! i tried to update it a little more, so much was missing and a lot of work is still needed. Please remember to vote and leave some comments for what you want to happen next!

-P