The Clockwork Universe

Story #1: Timeless

this one's from the UndiscoveredBooks Writing Prompts: You have discovered what appears to be an ordinary room. But as soon as you enter the room, time stops for you. When you leave the room, time resumes, picking up right where you left off. What do you use this room for?

I gather my tools, hands shaking slightly. The cogs and gears that have always been so familiar to me look different today. Maybe it is because they gleam brighter, or maybe it is because of all the promise they hold.

Perfect pieces of the perfect clock.

Clocks, you see, are essential for life, and for death.

People's souls are intricately tied to their individual clocks; so long as the hands tick, life goes on. A person's life (or lack thereof) is wholly dependent on their clock, not disease or even age.

It's the reason why clockmakers, like me, are in equal parts revered and feared. We are in charge of making each person's clock, the device that anchors each soul to time. Without their clock, a person can exist in the past, the present, and the future, all at once. Theoretically, these people, called the Timeless, are immortal. Theoretically. The strain of being in an infinite different places and times at once kills them almost immediately after they are brought into existence.

Nobody cheats time.

Except me, perhaps. If my experiment works, I will have thwarted the oldest force known to humanity. The thought of this makes me shiver in anticipation, and fear; fear of disobeying the law of the universe. But it is too late to stop now. I must see whether it is possible.

The weight of my metal-filled satchel sits loosely against my hip, bouncing against my bones every time I move.

I make for the Room, wending down dark, wood-panelled corridors. This building is so ordinary, a publisher's office in the middle of Manhattan, yet it contains and conceals such power- the likes of which have never been seen before.

The door finally appears, its brass door-knob shining in the moonlight that filters in from the window.

I place my hand on it, then turn. It creaks open, and I step inside, my heart ceasing its beating for a millisecond as time stills and warps. And then it is there again, loud and reassuring, as the loop restarts.

That's how the Room works: time has not stopped here. That would be impossible. It is looping, however. The Room is one moment repeated again and again and again, on and forever. The time warp in the Room detaches a human from their clock, but rather than letting the soul drift free to other places and times, it keeps it alive within one moment. So technically, I could stay in this room indefinitely, never ageing.

I pull out my clock from my satchel and place it on the makeshift table, a cold sweat pouring down my face.

This is it.

Clockmakers are taught at a young age to value each second in their lives, because one never knows when their clock will stop.

I see the brass hands of my silver wristwatch now, stilled by the Room, and the sight of it strikes such dread in me that I almost give up and leave.

Almost.

Slowly, with precision born out of years of practice, I disassemble my clock.

This is done usually after the death of a person.

I am not dead, however.

A clock built outside of the Room, in normal conditions, ticks like you would imagine a regular clock to tick. 12-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11

But what about a clock built in a time warp? This question is the crux of my experiment.

I reassemble it, carefully, methodically. I am in that headspace now, when it just me and the parts in front of me. I see each of them with perfect clarity. I see where they fit, I see how they come together, I see what they form.

My silver wristwatch is reassembled in mere minutes. I turn it over, my breath coming in short gasps. What if I did it? What if I changed the fundamentals of time itself?

The minute hand does not move. My disappointment is extreme. I swallow the knot of tears in my throat.

And then I see the seconds hand. It ticks, barely, between the 12 and the point immediately after it. 12-point after 12- 12 again. Back and forth like a pendulum, between 12 and the next second. The clock is ticking, but it is not ticking away time. It is ticking within a moment that loops continuously.

My soul is tied to this clock. As of now, I exist only within one moment that is endless. I am immortal.

******