Time: A Short Story

Posted On August 12, 2021

Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.

The clock clicked slowly as Jaxon sat on the bench, waiting for something to happen.

Eleven. Ten. Nine.

The door in the wall opened. “Jaxon,” the man said.

Eight. Seven. Six.

Jaxon stood. The man nodded and motioned for him to come forward.

Five. Four. Three.

A crash. A yell. Running footsteps. A woman screaming.

Two. One.

The clock kept on going, around and around, but to Jaxon the world seemed to have slowed to a stop. He ran down the hall. Out the door. Into the field. Freedom. He gasped for air and did not look back. He heard a man’s voice yelling after him. The wind whistled in his ears. His lungs burned. His feet were like the wind. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. The rhythm of the pounding became his life. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The clock still ticked in his mind. I have three minutes.

“Jaxon!”

Jaxon jolted back to life. His mother stood over him, her eyes worried. “Jaxon, what has gotten into you? I’ve been calling for a long time! Get dressed! You’re late!”

Jaxon rolled off the side of his bed, shaking his head. It had felt so real. Pulling on his trousers and tunic, he glanced at the clock ticking beside his bed.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tick. Tick—

“Jaxon!”

“Sorry, mother. I’m fine. Just stayed up too late, I guess.” Jaxon tugged on his boots, ran a hand through his hair, snatched a clerminfruit from the bowl in the kitchen, and headed out the door. The streets of Van Sorak were just as hot and crowded as usual. Animals hauling carts of imported goods trudged slowly along the dirt streets. People in veils swished around. Men in turbans yelled about fish. Boys in tunics and boots played games in the cool corners of the market.

Just my luck to live in the busiest part of town.

As Jaxon rounded a corner, he saw a man. Tall. Dark eyed, dark bearded. Wary. Mysterious. He held in his hand a bird that Jaxon had never seen before.

Jaxon ducked into a recess in the stone wall.

He listened.

In his mind the clock still ticked, on and on.

“Bartleby,” said the man. His voice was like a brick.

“Aye,” came the response. “What is it, stranger?”

A pause. Jaxon strained to hear. A shuffling of feet, a twitting that could only be the bird. It sounded strange. Just like the man.

“Have you got it?”

No answer. A grunt. A muttered phrase.

Swit! Swit!

Jaxon gasped as arrows hit the wall on either sides of his head. He ducked to the ground. Crouched.

Footsteps approached. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk….

“What are you hiding from, boy?”

Jaxon looked up to see the man towering above him, his glittering black eyes peircing his very soul.

“I hide from nothing.”

The man laughed and gave Jaxon a hand up. “Everyone is hiding from something.”

From a door in the wall came a sound. Someone grunting. “Gimme a hand, stranger.”

The man nodded curtly at Jaxon and returned to help the person in the wall. More grunts. Then a creaking, and Jaxon watched as the man hauled a thick black crate out, over his shoulder, and set it on a nearby cart with a thud. No words were written on it. Jaxon frowned.

Suddenly a sound stopped his heart.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tick. Tick—

“Jaxon! I said get up! Would you please listen to me?”

Jaxon sat up with a gasp. He looked down at himself, sitting in bed, and a strange sense washed over him. He had done this before. He was sure of it. Everything was the same, down to the scowl on his mother’s face.

“Mother,” he gasped. “I have to go!”

“I know that’s right,” his mother muttered, swatting him with a broom. “You’re late for school.”

But Jaxon was already out the door, racing through the streets until he rounded a corner and was met face to face with the bearded man. The man’s eyes widened, and he stepped back.

“You!” he shouted, and the bird on his shoulder chirped.

Jaxon tripped on his own feet and fell on his back in the dirt. “You know me?”

“Know you? Boy, you was just here! In that crevice in the wall! You just… disappeared, and when I come round the corner again there you was! Tell me what on jiggernon is going on!”

Jaxon looked dazedly up at the man, every word from his mouth like a drop of water on his face. Dimly he wondered what was happening, but suddenly he heard the sound again and he dropped his head back onto the dirt.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tick. Tick—

Jaxon opened his eyes. He was laying in a field, wind blowing on his face and tall grass billowing around him. He could hear screams far behind him. He stood and turned around, and saw a building in the middle of the field, sitting stolidly, with nothing else in sight for miles and miles in any direction. The building was on fire.

Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.

Jaxon began to run.

Eleven. Ten. Nine.

He reached the building, dodged flames and screams, and raced down the corridor.

Eight. Seven. Six.

There was the door. He gripped the handle.

Five. Four. Three.

The door opened and there was the man, still waiting for him, sitting among the flames that reached for his body.

Two. One.

“Hello,” says the man. “I knew you would come.”

And suddenly, all I can see is gone, and it is only him and me in the room. The flames. A deadly quiet.

And the clock.

I have three minutes.

Three.

Three.

Three.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tick. Tick—