Blog, story

Flash Fiction: The Alarming Tale of the Appearing Clock Heads part 1

art, city, clock

Loud buzzing noise awakens me from my slumber and I glance at the clock. 6:50 am. I know there should be somewhere I need to go but the bed feels so inviting as my hand gently turns the alarm off. Slowly sitting up feeling the blanket fall to my legs and pull to the side; However, my feet feel weary and its going to be another long day. Can I just not go to work today? No, I have to go. No point in missing work because I want to sleep in.

Feeling the cold hard wood floor touch the bottoms of my feet as I begin to gather myself and my clothes for the day. My gaze fuzzy as a felt something soft move against my legs startling me for a moment. Oh, it’s just Lillian; with a sigh of relief as the orange tabby meows up at me. She must be hungry. I grab the remote that’s nearby turning on the TV that sits against the soft mint walls. “more are appearing each day” says the anchor as I glance to the TV seeing the weird face heads one by one in a row where a walkway should be but are not. Over the last two weeks a new light post with this strange clock has appeared on the street up from me which I pass on my way to work everyday. They are tall, black and quite normal looking until you walk right up to them. There clock face becomes jumbled and ripples like the ocean yet they are not working and does not provide any source of actual telling of time. Each clock face set to a different time and they are not in sequence either. There has been reports, news, journalist and the local adrenaline junkies whom try to see where these clocks come from or figure out why the clock faces are all at different times. Yet, they all have the same story–

“Hey! Your up, I made breakfast! I think you’ll love it dear”

A masculine voice calls out, one that warms my heart and I look at him with a plate in his hand which causes me to sniff the air. How did I miss this?  The smell of eggs, bacon and english toast fills my nostrils. “When did you wake up to make this?” I see the look on his face with my question like he has not slept a wink. “A little bit of time between writing” his voice is like smooth butter on a warm slice of toast and his hair tussles gently around his face like a rock star given up on a dream but kept the hair for the memories. ” have you seen the clocks recently?” his gaze stares at me while I watch the words roll of his gentle tongue “No, did something change?” I wrench a little due to the raspy sound of my voice which I am not used to. Maybe I am sick or strained my voice too much.

To Be Continued