Prisoner of Time

Prisoner of Time

Time. It was all he had now. Everything was taken away from him on that fateful night. His home, his wife, his favorite book, his future. That night of horror was burned into his mind, the events haunting him as they repeat in his dreams, again and again, like a broken record. It was a night of despair but it was a memorable night. It was the night his predictions came true. It was the night he had to face reality.

He was drugged and taken to a place he had never known. A place where he was caged in by high walls. A place with no color, no light, and no future. The room was silent when he awoke, the only sound being the ticking of a clock. Time. That was all he had. The blank canvas walls leaned over him, showing not a single weakness, not a single possibility of escape. There was one other thing in the room besides his iron shackles which chained him to a corner. A clock. It was just a normal clock. An old, white, analog clock that you could find in nearly any classroom. But it held a feeling of importance that he couldn't define. The needle of the clock glowed faintly. It was the only light in the room. It was there to serve as a reminder of the only thing he had left. Maybe if he uncovered the clock’s secret, he could escape. Just maybe.

But why would he who had lost everything wish to escape? His home taken, his wife dead, his favorite book burnt, his future destroyed. he stared into the darkness, without desire to move. He watched the clock and its glowing second needle. He watched it tick, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. Hunger never seemed to be a problem, nor did sleep. He was breathing, he was living, and yet he was not. There was nothing to feel. Nothing to live for. Nothing to help ease his loneliness. Nothing but time.

It was torture. It was eternal. Why was he taken to such a place? He had so many questions, but no one to ask. He felt no reason to ask either. He had no desire to find out. He had nothing left. Nothing but time. But what value did time hold anyways? Even as his thoughts wandered, even as he fantasized about his old life, he would always be jolted awake by the same dream. No, the same nightmare. Three ticks of the clock. Three ticks. It was three ticks on that night before the disaster. He was sitting on the balcony with his beloved wife. He loved her for 20 long years. He had her in his arms when the clock ticked three times. And then, he would wake up, shaken by the ticking of the clock, the only sound that could be heard.

He would wake up clammy and cold, his heart pounding uncontrollably. Thump. Thump. Thump. The seconds ticked by as his breathing evened. The eternal amount of time given to him had enabled him to think. Time revealed many secrets and uncovered the darkest of truths. That is what time had given him. The reason for his life, the reason his loved ones suffered. The revelation hit him and he sunk into darkness. He had lost. That moment he lost hope was the moment his memories, his entire existence vanished. There was truly nothing left. His wife, everyone he once knew, was alive, but not one remembered him. This man, now with no name, had vanished from history.