TICK TOCK
Tick … Tock
A wet slicing sound accompanied the entry of the knife. Her beautiful eyes widened in shock as she fell back against the grandfather clock. Its chimes reverberated with the impact and she slid to the floor, blood gushing from her throat.
I felt a sudden and intense pressure in my skull as if my eyes were vomiting and as the feeling subsided, so too did the unearthly green glow leaving the room cast in the pale illumination of twilight. The echo of the clock chimes were still ringing in the air as my newly cleared eyes and mind oversaw the horror I had wrought. The chimes were drowned entirely as I screamed my wife’s name. She did not, nor would she ever again reply, her eyes stared back at me lifelessly.
Tick … Tock
In the silence that followed I noticed, as if for the first time, the ticking of the grandfather clock. It was a deep and deliberate ticking that echoed through the room, the only sound to disturb the now oppressive silence.
Tick … Tock
Tick … Tock
I stared with tear flooded eyes at the clock face, wishing fervently that I had the power to make the hands turn in reverse and abrogate my crime. Was it my imagination or did the numbers on the clock-face briefly glow green?
Tick … Tock
“What have I done?” I cried to the air
Tick … Tock
No longer in the realms of my imagination, the numbers flared green and the ticking, once sombre and deep, now took on a distinctly mocking tone
Tick … Tock
Perhaps my mind had fractured in disgust at my deed but I addressed the clock as if it were a person. “Who are you?” I demanded, “Why have you made me do this?!?”
Tick … Tock
“This was Hanna, my wife.” Looking down, I stroked her cheek tenderly, possessed with futile hope that she would awaken. “I loved her as I have never loved another”. I gazed into pale blue eyes that once sparkled with life but were now dull and empty. Swallowing hard, I closed her eyes for the last time and rose to face the clock.
Tick … Tock
Another man might think me mad for arguing with a timepiece and mayhap I was but I nevertheless stood face to face and shouted “WHY DID YOU MAKE ME DO THIS?”
Tick … Tock
My hands grasped the sides of the clock astride the face, as if to strangle answers out of it whilst I poured out my anger and grief. “WHO ARE YOU??”
Tick ......
Seconds passed before my sorrow ravaged mind noticed the change; the absence of “Tock”. I stared intently at the clock face, its weathered mahogany dial and glinting exposed clockwork looking considerably more dangerous than before. Whether I sought out eyes or merely something to hate I knew not but shortly thereafter, the green of the numbers faded. Seconds passed and became a minute without further change. Had the entire incident been a production of my deranged mind? In a sudden moment of desperation I looked down but Hanna still lay motionless, a knife protruding from her elegant neck, the metallic tang of her blood permeating the air. A flicker of green brought my attention back to the clock face. Scorched into the clock face beneath the hands, looking for all the world as if it had been there since the clocks manufacture was a single word:
MAGNUS
I stared dumbfounded at the word for several seconds, scarcely able to believe that it was there. Then, as if to further mock me, the numbers began to glow again.
……Tock
Tick … Tock
Tick … Tock
I suspect it was at this point when my mind truly broke; I became as a beast and smashed the glass, the dial, the gears, cutting my hands severely though in truth the fact barely registered. As the unearthly radiance of the numbers faded, I sank to my knees and lay my head against the clock case, sobbing for the loss of my wife, for my actions and for my apparent madness. A sudden movement at my knees almost made my heart stop. Hanna! She moved! Cradling her head gently, I gazed upon her face and her eyes flicked open. I gasped with shock, her eyes were coloured not the blue they should have been but the vile green of the clock numbers. Her mouth opened and whilst I knew in my heart that I would not hear my wife, I hoped against all hope that I would get an answer, some measure of resolution, some reason for my plight. No such fortune befell me; her mouth uttered not words but the dreadful ticking:
“Tick … Tock”
I wailed, unsure if I was furious or sorrowful “Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!!!!!!!”
Tick … Tock
There was a sudden crash as the front door of my home broke open, my neighbours had evidently heard my cries and alerted the police. I can only imagine their reaction as they saw me, kneeling next to the body, covered in blood and shouting vehemently at something they could not see. I scarcely remember what transpired, save that as I was being led out; one of the policemen began to softly echo the grim cadence that had become my torment.
Tick … Tock
Tick … Tock
My fate was not to be the death I so fervently wished for, such a sentence would have been an act of sweet charity. In the interests of compassion, they wanted to cure me and so placed me in an institution where for 24 hours every day, I was confined to a straight jacket because, had my hands been free, I would have tried to claw off my own ears to stop the noise. The incessant tattoo forming my own personalised “beating of that hideous heart”. To no avail I begged them to take the clock away, they said there was no clock but there it sat in the corner, glaring malevolently at me, the word Magnus ever glowing a sickly green and forever the ticking…
Tick … Tock
Tick … Tock
Tick … Tock
_____________________________________________________________________
THE LIGHTHOUSE
*
Almost forty years ago, a young couple sat in the maternity wing of a municipal
hospital. They stared at the doctor after his earth-shattering news.
“I’m sure you’ll do your best to give Daniel the best quality of life he could possibly
have. The support is out there, so you won’t be alone.”
The mother began to sob quietly. The father placed his hand in hers and looked at the
doctor apologetically.
“There is something you could try. We have a drug that is still in very early stages of
development, but if you allowed us to treat your son with it he could live a normal life
for many years. But all this could be finite.”
“How finite?”
“The simple answer is, I don’t know.”
*
A group of people gathered on a hot summer’s day in a churchyard, wiping their
sweating faces with handkerchiefs.
The priest at the centre of the group began to speak, and they put away their
handkerchiefs. The priest’s voice droned above their heads. A silver-haired couple
stood stiffly, holding each other’s hands tight.
A man in a wheelchair sat under a tree’s overhanging branches, a middle-aged carer
beside him.
Two children kneel on the ground, obliviously digging up earth and making friends
with earthworms.
*
The two children play in the sand, laughing, scooping handfuls and scattering them to
the wind.
Their mother placed a bag on the wall overlooking them, and retrieved a plastic box
containing sandwiches.
“Frith! Phil! Be sure to come and get your lunch when you’re ready!”
The shape in the wheelchair near her mumbled, and she took out a sandwich and held
it while he munched, crumbs and pickle and cheese dropping everywhere. She wiped
the brown stain around his mouth and shivered at the sound of surf, as if it brought
with it coldness.
Looming over them, the lighthouse glowed in the sun, exuberant whiteness.
*
At the churchyard, the two children were led to the front and the group looked at them
with the indulgence reserved for the young. The girl was the only one who spoke.
“My daddy’s dead. But he’s still here, really. He’s always watching over me and my
brother.”
Tears spilled around them.
*
The architect of the lighthouse had built it fifteen years earlier. He dedicated the first
building he designed – or rather, first paid job – to his wife. It was one of the simplest
buildings he ever built, but one he was most proud of. To him it was a beacon of
beautiful light, serving a higher purpose beyond just being a building. It protected
those who saw it, standing tall and upright and strong.
He had started seeing his wife at university, their relationship becoming more serious
as they realised near graduation that they didn’t want things to end there. After
meeting her, his father loved her like a daughter.
He wanted to be an architect from an early age. He saw every building he ever passed
analytically, imagining it in the designer’s eyes before a single stone was placed in
cement. Every building he stepped into reverberated inside him.
*
The couple sat side by side on the sofa.
“Now he’s met someone, do we tell them? Do we tell her?”
“If we did, do you think we’d ever see grandchildren?”
“Doesn’t she have the right to know?”
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“Doesn’t he have the right to know?”
They were both silent. That was the only time they ever talked about it. Throughout
the years, their conversation continued many times through secret stares.
*
The family were on their annual visit to the lighthouse. The children played in the
water and Phil, reckless adventurer that he was, paddled further from the shore than
he should.
Their father had his back to them. He was looking at his wife leaning over the wall
that encircled the nether regions of the monument, overwhelmed in the moment. He
saw her body tense up and arms gesture.
“Dan, tell Phil to be careful.”
He turned round and saw his son. Fear leapt into his throat at the distance between
them.
He stepped forward and began to call.
“Phhhhhh” – but no other sound could escape his lips. He tried again.
“Fffffffffffuh”. At the same time, he made a vain gesture towards his children but at
that moment his legs gave way beneath him and he fell, tasting sand.
Later, he was carried on a stretcher to the back of an ambulance. His wife looked on, a
dripping-wet child clutching each hand, as the doors of the ambulance slammed shut.
Her husband’s frantic, inarticulate attempts at forming speech could be heard as the
vehicle drew away.
The following day, things returned to normal, but Daniel felt shaken more than he let
on. He did not want that feeling of utter physical powerlessness to ever return.
*
A year later, Daniel felt it coming an hour before it manifested; smelled it in the wind.
He jumped up from his desk, scattering blueprints and ground plans everywhere, and
hurriedly departed from his house. His wife looked out of the window as his car
skidded from the drive.
He drove with a steely determination in his eyes.
Ten minutes after steady driving, he felt twitching in his left hand and a small moan
escaped his lips.
Twenty minutes passed and he still drove. A wave of horror swept over him at one
point. His car approached traffic lights as a mother and child were crossing and he
stared down at his leg in shock as he felt no control over it. He pushed down on his
leg with both hands and the car sharply slammed on its brakes and swerved slightly as
he lost control of steering, then ground to a stop. The mother stared at him in anger,
gesticulating, and he stared back as apologetically as he could.
When the lights changed, he gave a huge breath and breathed a houseful in. Driving
on, the lighthouse appeared on the horizon, glistening in the distance.
The car pulled up at the lighthouse and Daniel staggered out clumsily, arms and legs
flailing.
Moments later, he was pulling himself up the spiralling steps that led up to the
pinnacle. Breathless, he finally reached it and sat gasping, looking up at the fresnel
lens.
It was in this position that he was found by his wife an hour later, his body inert and
distorted and unrecognisable, causing her to sink to her knees and sob uncontrollably.
*
The priest stepped aside, and an elderly man took centre stage.
“I’m very sad, but at the same time incredibly proud, to be here. What I have to say
about this occasion can be summarised in two questions. What is a life worth living, if
it’s not living at all? What is Man if he cannot live and procreate?”
He looked around.
“The simple answer is, nothing. We are gathered here today to celebrate and mourn a
life that wouldn’t have achieved what it did if it wasn’t for science. Unfortunately,
science struggles to serve humankind despite, frequently, overwhelming opposition.
But when science truly succeeds it is amazing. Daniel Turner lived a good life and
leaves much to show for it, including a son and a daughter. They answer whether
science is right; they show Daniel’s life was not in vain.”
There was polite applause, and in a procession people lined up with flowers. One by
one, they threw them into an empty grave. The boy and girl were last. The boy threw
his soberly, stood for a moment and walked off. The girl snapped off a head and then
threw the rest of the bunch into the chasm.
She walked off, not in the direction of her brother, but to a man sitting in a wheelchair
beside his carer. She looked up into his face and laid the mess of petals on his lap.
Expressionless. Unrecognising.
She turned and walked away.
The carer turned to her charge.
“Come on then Daniel, let’s get you out of here.” With a jolt, she turned the
wheelchair round in the direction of departing guests. The petals fell to the earth.
____________________________________________________________________
Echidna Empire:
(Final Copy)
It all started in Spring, forty years ago. There was new life sprouting around the bush, from the simple scrub to the grand emus. Now echidnas are fairly simple and solitary creatures. They mate and then die. But every year, in Spring, all the echidnas of the Bull-Ant hills would gather ‘round the billabong that hugged Rock Creek. Here, a male, or ten, would try to win the heart of a girl.
But not this year. Two weeks into Spring, disaster struck. Echidnas were disappearing each day. At first, it was ignored, but soon many echidnas went missing.
It wasn’t until fifteen echidnas were missing that a puggle named Burt happened to get a peek at a clan of dingoes tearing apart one of his friends. Without dilly-dallying, he went to the elders of the group and told them of what he saw. Despite the fact that the elders had no experience with dingoes, they still “yabbered” (the word the puggles used when the elders gave useless advice) away at the group so as not to look silly.
One particular echidna, Eric, had heard about a similar problem in Red-Ant country. After arguing with the elders, Eric proposed something quite radical; that Echidnas should stop being solitary and “based on instincts”. Soon Eric talked of days gone by in Red-Ant country, when echidnas were safe; a time when they lived in a complex society. As charismatic as he was (it came to him naturally; much like laughter to a kookaburra), many were wary of the idea.
Later that week, the dingoes launched an attack on the billabong. Caught by surprise, the echidnas were about to scramble back to their holes when Eric, and his brother Ed, curled into spike-balls and threw themselves at the dingos. Now to dingoes, echidna spikes feel like syringes, but they were hardly threatened by two echidnas. However, the bravery of Eric and Ed inspired the others to also curl into spike-balls and roll towards their attackers, like a wave about to deck a surfer.
After a stunning victory over the dingoes (all of whom were called Spike from that day on), the echidnas saw the benefits of “safety in numbers”, and crowned Eric king.
Twenty years on and a lot had changed. Though King Eric still served as ruler, his subjects numbered in the hundreds. At this time, many echidnas were curious of places beyond the billabong. Burt, who had spotted the dingoes as a puggle, grew up to be an explorer and, when he turned three, led several expeditions into the country that was on the other side of Rock Creek
Here he discovered the echidnas of the White-Ant valley. These echidnas had a shorter beak and four claws on their forefeet instead of five. And to his surprise, there was a lot of “easy-tucker”, as it was filled with slow-moving White-Ants that lived in the hard wood of the Eucalyptus trees.
After his fifth expedition, Burt stayed with the short-beaks, teaching them about the Bull-Ant Kingdom. The short-beaks were planning a community themselves, when fifty fighters of the Echidna Kingdom began to overrun their homes. On strict orders of Eric, they were either to “accept a formal surrender of short-beaks”, or forcefully seize their land.
The short beaks, a peaceful folk, were forced to surrender, and Burt was killed as a “traitor” to the newly formed Echidna Empire.
Another 20 years passed; the situation was no better. Emperor Eric had reinforced his grip on the population and increased ant-taxes, all of which went to Eric-the fattest echidna in the Empire. All the echidnas (except Eric) began to starve due to these huge taxes. Even his personal guard, better known as the “wallopers”, got nothing to eat; the only thing keeping them in line was fear of persecution.
However, a group of echidnas organised a mass protest outside Eric’s “palace”.
The emperor knew of only one way to solve the problem; he dispatched the “wallopers” to “remove” the protesters.
But the mob would not be bullied anymore!
What followed was the largest battle to ever take place in the bush! Each side formed into a massive row of spike-balls; their commanders waiting to give the command to attack.
The battle, however, is not important; the echidnas met face to face and fought for about 15 minutes, until one combatant noticed a group of ants. One by one, the echidnas stopped fighting and began to look for a nest; they were too hungry to fight.
At last one of the “wallopers” found the nest, and started burrowing. Hordes of ants emerged, but none escaped the echidnas. There were so many that every echidna of the Echidna Empire (except Eric) flocked to the valley in search of a feast!
But echidnas are forgetful little creatures when there is lots of food to eat.
So they all forgot; about the battle; about society, about Eric and about the Empire.
Nowadays, echidnas are simple and solitary creatures, as before. They all would’ve completely forgotten, if not for the skeleton of what was a very fat echidna. And they all would’ve lived happily ever after, if not for the Ant Coalition.
