The night cried. It wept without restraint.
It cried fat, gloppy tears that dropped like lead marbles from the sky, landing on her frazzled hair and ruddy cheeks. She walked down the quiet road, hands in pockets, feet dragging across the mucked-up gravel. Mascara bled from her eyes, but it didn’t bother her. Nobody else gave a damn so why should she?
“They’re gone,” she told herself. “Gone like dust in the wind. Gone like the light of day. Gone, gone, gone.” Yet she was still here, still very real. Still hurting.
She walked. Where she was going, she did not know. Where she ended up, she did not care. The drum of the rain whispering in her ear was all she needed.
The trees parted and gave way to a grassy expanse. Then, she saw it, perched on a lonely cliff by the sea. The clock tower.
The looming monolith brought an old story to the top of her memory. Years ago, a town thrived on these grass-covered plains, always growing and bustling with people. A generation passed and happiness bloomed in the community as well as in the hearts of all who inhabited it.
Then, they vanished, for reasons unknown.
Buildings crumbled to dust and were whisked away in the autumn chill. The flower of happiness that bloomed and was once fruitful grew brown and sickly before crumpling to the ground, dead.
And thus, the clock tower by the sea was abandoned, all alone.
Much like herself.
The rain grew more intense as she crossed the field, the gentle pitter-patter morphing into knife-like sheets. The clock tower called to her, two lonely beings yearning for the company of the other. She answered.
As she approached, she could tell that the great face of the clock had long since stopped ticking, its hands frozen forever at 7:32. Yet while the poor creature was dead from the outside, a sliver of life still dwelled within it. She still heard its hypnotic rhythm in her head, echoing in her skull with every heartbeat.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
The clock tower filled her eyes, shoving away any foul thoughts of the past. The poor, broken thing. The mossy, disintegrating stones that formed the base. The dangling shutters and boarded-up windows. The peeling paint. The sad, drooping face of the clock. The rotted wooden shingles. The squawking gulls that nested in the rafters. It was beautiful.
Lightening slashed through the dark of the night, silhouetting the clock tower’s elegant frame. She staggered to the front door and her hands scrambled for the doorknob. The rusted lock around the handle loosened and clattered to the ground.
Thunder roared in her ear.
The hinges moaned as the door swung open. She entered, compelled by a force that was beyond herself. The ticking that reverberated in her mind grew stronger still. It pulled her in, the clock tower. It wanted a friend. It wanted her.
She passed through the doorway and a strange sensation fell over her body. She no longer felt the rain that soaked her clothes, chilling the marrow in her bones, nor did she smell the clock tower’s pungent odor. She did not see the decaying wood that formed the structures around her.
But she did feel the desire.
She did feel the insatiable hunger that guided her feet up the stairs in slow, mechanical movements. There was something at the top of the clock tower, she knew, something that would wash away her sadness, drive away the past. Something that would complete her.
With every step she took, the stairs exhaled, their voices weak and raspy. Closer and closer she got to the top, the louder, the more powerful the ticking would become. And she was filled with a warmth, a delightful warmth, like being inside a womb.
There was a small room at the top of the tower above the face of the clock, and, inside of it, there was a small, glowing orb. The fragment of a long-forgotten soul. A smile overtook her face at the sight of it, feeling like the first in forever. She reached out to touch the light, but it flitted away shyly. It drifted across the cobweb-leaden room to where a single window stood, looking out on to the roiling sea. The curtains, battered by age and torn by time, swayed in the wind that passed through jagged panes of broken glass. The light flickered by the window, dancing and enticing, and she followed it once more, stopping inches from the window. Gusts of wet, salty air slapped against her face, yet she took no notice.
All she cared for, all she knew, was contained within that little fragment of a soul. It chased away the hate, the pain, the memories, and replaced them with a kind of bliss. Elation, almost. As they all say, misery loves company. The blood that rushed through her veins sang with ecstasy, ignoring the chill that crept through the air and crawled across her skin.
The light consumed her pitiful mind, and she forgot all that was around her. The howling wind. The writhing waves below. The wheezing groans of the clock tower. All forgotten. All lost. Even the figure in the distance, frantically running toward the clock tower, calling out her name.
She was dazed, entranced so much so, that she did not even hear the great clock tower’s betrayal.
Rotten floorboards cracked as the foundation began to cave in upon itself. The clock tower by the sea gave a final scream before it went to join its kin scattered in the dust. The figure in the distance cried out, but he was too late. She had made her choice.
Falling was a vague, distant sense.
The light was gone, snuffed out like a candle flame, and she was empty. Air rushing past her face dried the tears that welled in her eyes. Before the sea at last engulfed her and freed her from her lachrymose, she saw one last glimpse of him.
Soaked to the bone, hair plastered to his face, he came for her. His mouth formed the desperate words that never reached her ear.
She thought he had abandoned her.
She thought he had forgotten her.
Yet he came back.
For a moment, her heart was warmed. Then, nothing. Nothing but the pulse of the clock tower.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
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