Till The Clock Strikes Gone

o1 | maybe

'...and then the boy was swallowed by the Ghost Of Time.

The End'

That was the last line of acclaimed author William Ray's debut novel, 'The House Of Time'. It was an average-sized work. A total of five hundred pages preceded by a hardcover on top. The cover was simple - a house in a dark background with the words 'The House Of Time' and 'William Ray' styled in various fonts and colours. William remembered it clearly because it was designed by his long time friend who had started as a mere acquaintance, Charlie Devon. Charlie was a short, brown-haired guy in his early thirties, a few years older than William who was nearing the age of twenty-eight soon. Charlie had a moustache that covered his upper lip completely and his small eyes were nothing compared to William's bright blue ones. Charlie's face was round and he had a pleasant aura that engulfed him, but William was different.

William's sharp features and his dark blond hair gave him the countenance of a handsome young man. Yet, when you had a chance to finally meet the guy beneath the long eyelashes and bright blue eyes, you would realize that he wasn't the kind of man he often described as the 'ideal' one in his books. It was assumed to be a sign of his inability to comprehend mortal emotions like most around him did. It was concluded to the better judgement of humans of adequate intelligence that William Ray was nothing more than someone who could wield a pen like great knights wielded swords. He was signed off as rude, arrogant and damaged without any particular cause by anyone who had the chance of being in his company for ten seconds.

No-one knew why William was like this; he liked to keep his life very private. Once when he was asked about his marriage, he had refused to answer the question, dodging it with an air of ignorance. William Ray didn't like giving interviews. The habit started on a rather peculiar incident when once, in an interview with the local newspaper, he was asked why he had written a book on time as a villain. He had failed to answer. Since then, he refused to be a part of any more 'inconvenient conversations' as he termed them. His only social life involved him writing and publishing his novels and the rest was done by his manager, Duncan Jones and team. He was scheduled for a quiet life which consisted of writing, drinking, eating and enjoying erotic pleasures with his wife.

His wife, Eliza Eleanor Ray, was beautiful, smart, brilliant and from William's point of view - a naive woman. William, although being an author, had no words to describe why he felt such indifference towards his wife. She was, after all, a pretty woman, only two months younger than him. Her brunette hair was waist length and fell perfectly on her shoulders. Her green eyes shone and her bright smile that enhanced the beauty on her small and amiable face made William almost blind when he saw it every day. She was a beaming ray of sunshine while he was an eclipsed moon and he still wondered, even after a year of their marriage, what did she see in him that she and her father went crazy to have him as her groom.

He didn't even want to get married in the first place. It was his damned parents who had forced him into this 'unfortunate event' of his life. The only people William felt more withdrawn from other than Eliza was his inconsiderate parents, who didn't even care to ask about his feelings before pushing him into this mess of a relationship.

It wasn't like William didn't get any benefits from this marriage. His wife was elegant and had a superior sense of pride that wasn't prominent in any other author's wife in their quiet town. She had a petite figure and long legs which he didn't mind wrapped around him, and her scent was delicious. It was something that sent him crazy every time he was near her and she definitely knew how to take advantage of it.

Whenever they fought, all Eliza had to do was brush her knees against his legs and the very next moment they would be on their bed. William would be on top of her, kissing and devouring every inch of her. The argument would be long forgotten by the time they were done with each other.