The Clockwork

I am Calvas Jones. My life once revolved around the mechanics of clockworks. Every gear, every mainspring, motors with their adjustments and patterns, how to synchronize them in perfect harmony with the hours of our planet. The music I hear with every tick, a testament of my success. Works of art to me while a mere complex contraption to others. However, my work ensures these timekeepers make their way in the hands of man.

The shop has seen better days though. Rarely have I been in to tend the place. Not many customers were willing to purchase my merchandise. However, it was a very rough time. One where I was fortunate enough to keep my house and store. Unfortunately, I could not make a substantial amount needed to keep the infrastructures alive, and my fortune would not last forever. I had fought tooth and nail in the past to keep my father’s store running. At that time, I was but a mere boy barely reaching adulthood. Even when The Great War took his life, I persevered. Until three weeks in and I lost the shop.

I was to grieve in my home. All my possessions there were gone. I had feared that my house was next to go. My hands shook with anger and anxiety, powerless in the economic disaster that befell upon me, and the people of this proud nation. My will was lost as was everything else in this life. As though I was stuck in an inevitable path of disparity with no end in sight, my fortune drained into the abyss of this blight. The tracks going further and further down the line, threatening to derail at a moment’s notice. Days passed and the light in my life grew darker by the day.

I wondered what would become of my mother and my brothers. She could not work and only one of my three siblings was of age to work. However, he too was struggling amidst the depressing age of our society. Income was weak, barely enough to cover the cost to feed all. I had thought to sell my house and join with them. But what stopped me was the lack of compliance I received from banks over the issue of my savings. I was with barely anything left.

Summer came not too long after. Friday I received an eviction notice. I must leave within seven days. I would not profit off anything nor would I be compensated for this act. Everything from my furnishings were to be repossessed. My mother stopped by and pleaded for me to give up the house and join them. I had refused. It was at that point I reached my lowest. Father’s gun never looked so merciful before. The choice was tempting.

But it wasn’t until that day, a stranger dressed in black entered my establishment. He did not question the gun I held in my hand. Only asked for my attention. I told him I could no longer work… but he gave me something that he promised would benefit me greatly, an artisan of clockworks. He told me the man who used to own this piece died before he could unlock how the mechanisms for this clock worked. Thus, he came to me in the hopes that I would discern it.

When I looked at the clock however… I refused to call it anything as such resembling a clock. It was a crusty, rusted, metallic sphere of peculiar circular shapes and designs. Opening it revealed impossibly complex works of gears and machinery that I could not for the life of me, comprehend. None of the gears were moving. I had thought it to be due to the rather atrocious design mechanics. I sought to return it back to the man, but he refused, and only told me that ‘I should look harder. It may not seem possible but those gears can and will work in conjunction.’How could they? There were no more questions for me to ask as he had already left the premise when he was done. I turned to this puzzling contraption once more. Curiosity became my enemy. Economics no longer mattered.

When I asked the man if he knew the previous owner personally, he only said this; “I knew him since the first hour of his first day. And I’ve been with him since the final hours of his last.” He never divulged more than that. When I asked if he was given the mechanism, he avoided the question and bid me good day. I was left with the grand complex marvel in hand, mesmerized.

The first day, I closed and opened the contraption repeatedly. Each time I closed it, I tried to twist and turn it around with no avail. I had thought it to be a manual contraption but the gears on either end of the sphere prevented it from such. Even when I sought to twist in the opposite direction. However, nothing but anxiety inducing was this nefarious puzzle.

Occasionally I placed it aside to resume preparations. I had thought about giving up and leaving the house to its fate. That was until I heard a series of ticking, almost akin to that of a clock. I looked to see what it was and where it came from before I left the house in a rush.

I had thought to make the time I could off the streets repairing clockworks on the go for cash. It was clear no one was taking my service. Not just because of their clocks in working condition, but because none could afford. I found myself laying on the ground, beaten to a pulp when I did make a good amount of money. I cursed the world and returned to my home for the rest of the day, where I spent my evening fiddling with the contraption, while the irritating ticking counted away.

The second day, I tackled it as one would do with clocks and watches. My memory was astute, but the number of varying gear sizes and mainsprings locked together in certain ways that it made for a struggling project to work with. I had to test each gear and spring to assure the mechanisms were in place for the rest to work in accord with the rest of the workings. But I worked only one half of the sphere out of anxiety. Each gear I pulled out, another ceased to work. Every time I test the 

contraption with my finger, I observed whatever motions I could record in the event I had succeeded in matching a pattern. When I could not, I replaced gears that did work with the rest back into place. An entire day went into this.

The third day was a struggle. First, my water appliances no longer functioned. I had saved up on bottles to refill the other day should such an event occur. And it did. Once more, I delved back into the sphere. I should had given up by then. However, there was this obsession over me. The same kind I get when I work on a clock that I would consider a masterpiece by design. I could not help but boast about my previous skills. However, this sphere contrived of clockwork. I felt as though that this sphere insulted my intelligence had I left it to be.

With gusto, I retraced my steps from the other day. This time, I worked on both ends of the sphere at the same time. Some gears replacing one end to the other. Each spring for another, thick and thin, big and small, each in place for the other. I was starting to sweat. My heart was racing during my work. The heat of the summer day distorting my mind and my body. The shower no longer functioned. It left me with nothing but the sphere. At one point, I took the contraption with me, and worked as I was submerged in water, careful not to wet any components. I realized the replacement of the gears had only made working the sphere worse. I could no longer close it.

The fourth day, I screamed onto the heavens. I no longer had light. I had myself sitting in the corner of by bedroom where the first break of light would touch the room. Every few hours or so I would move to observe my own progress. I was getting nowhere it seemed. I trashed around the room of furniture in my way, gripping the sphere with sore hands, blistered from the continuous work of metal and rust. I had woke up early that morning and not slept a wink since the evening of that day. One hand in place of the other to give myself recuperation before I switched back to do the same vice versa. It came to my discovery that I could twist and turn certain gears around and lock the mainsprings in place. From one end of the sphere to the other, I could connect them and work others that followed the pattern.

Three thirty in the morning of the fifth day was when I was finally able to close the metallic sphere. I was able to twist it just a little bit. Progress, after so long. I cried. I looked around the tarnished room, never realizing I had worked in total darkness. Something was off though. There were a few items missing from my bedroom. The condition of it looked a tad bit worse than it was when I stopped tending to maintenance. I looked out the window, and in the distance, I saw a shred of light.

Mid of the fifth day I was half-asleep. My mind was distorted over the sphere; the beauty of the difficult construct brought meaning to my life. I dreamt of that rusted corroded piece of machinery for such a long time. This depression I was in had long since been gone. I realized now that I had meaning back in my life. In addition, to think, my obsession over the clock brought back my will to live. Even if I were to live in the shanties that covered the parks, I found meaning back in my life. I did not waste the entire day sleeping though. Nor did I use the day to work on the sphere that I wanted to do.

I was hungry, I was exhausted, and dehydrated. My work sought me to consume the entire fridge of food and water. Whatever that was left was inevitable, rotted away due to power cuts. My only solution was the soup parlor. It was usually my favorite meal. I hardly each much of anything that was solid these days. The lines were long and the heat made it feel longer. But when I came upon the window I unearthed a startling revelation; the soup was revolting. There were hardly any nutritional value in. Tiny bits of beef, not even a hint of spice or a drop of pea or corn. Chicken broth without the chicken. All this time I waited for soup, and it went to waste. To say anything about the water was nothing but stagnant.

That evening, I worked back on the clock until my eyes burned and my fingers bled. Drips of the crimson wet substance fell onto the ground as I worked, trying hard not to let the blood stain the mechanisms. I had no idea how long I had worked on it, because by the time I had the next gear fitted for the other side of the sphere, I had collapsed. When I came too, it was the sixth day.

Men from the bank appeared before my house. The ones who staked the repossession claim on my house since I could no longer afford it. They were agitated when they learned that I had not left the house prior to the eviction notice. Heated words were exchanged between us and eventually it lead to physical violence. I was left bleeding more than my hands ever did. Disorientated and weak, I was left on the floor. They wanted me gone by tomorrow or they would come with police to arrest me.

I was defiant naturally. In my spark of heated hatred and confidence, I worked through the pain and returned to my project. I felt myself getting so close. So close. Something inside told me to push. Was it my will? My pride? My obsession? I could hear the sphere. I could hear… the movement of gears. The grinding of metal, the clicks and ticks of the machinery at work, the springs in movement. I opened the sphere only to find that there was nothing. The gears shown no signs of adjustments or movements. However, I could still hear it… I could still hear the grinding of gears, the ticking of a clock friction of metal. Was it just me? Was this a wasted endeavor? Had I gone insane?

My mother appeared at my doorstep that evening. Her eyes were streaming with tears. She had not heard from me in so long. She was so full of despair. Eyes red and heavy, face swollen with grief; a once beautiful woman, now crippled and wrinkled, weak from the weeks of stress and pain of the struggling era. The news she brought did not give me any ease. Hands shaking, face pleading, she begs for me to come with them, to come home.

‘I am home mother! This is my home! It has been, still is and ever will be my home!  I and my father, who worked our fingers to the bone to help maintain! This is my home! What is a man without his home?! I will never leave! It is, was and always will be my home! And I have the one thing that will assure me this home will still be mines!’

I was so sure of it. I was so sure this sphere would bring me the solace I seek from this suffering. Of the time I spent on this sphere, it must compensate me! It must! I hated seeing my mother so weak and so in pain. I wanted this to be the cornerstone of my success that will ensure our future! Hers, mines, my brothers. Then I heard her speak, soft and grieving words escaped from her trembling lips.

‘Nicolas is dead. Calvas, your hardworking brother killed himself!’

I stood in silence. I stared over the face of my mother. The pain was so great that it resonated off her, resounding into me. I felt the pit of my stomach explode. Existing started to pain me. My tired eyes could not shed a single tear. I watched, in denial, in silence. Minutes passed, and she just stood there, pleading and crying. I dropped to my knees when the reality finally settled in. I let out a terrifying scream of anguish and pain. What more must I lose in the world? Everything felt pointless. Everything…except for the sphere.

            ‘Calvas, dear Calvas, please. Please come with me. Please come home. Please. I am lost. I am lost. I am so lost without you it is as if I am losing my husband all over again. I lost Nicolas. Please do not make me lose you too. Come my child. Please.’

She did her best to comfort me, but alas, it was for naught. I turned my mother away, telling her I would be home as soon as I finished with what I had to do. She was reluctant to leave me. It was as though she was afraid. Afraid that she would lose me too. Sweet mother, I thought, I will never leave you. No cell nor man or god almighty himself will take me away from this world. And I was so sure of it too.

I already miss the gentle tone in her voice, the soothing comfort she gives unto me, the same she did so many years ago.

The seventh day came. My suffering and that of my family will soon be at an end. I found the pattern. It had me nearly disassemble every clockwork in the sections of each side of the accursed sphere to get them to fall in place. I could hear it! In my mind the roar of the great clocks coming to life! The magnificent ticking of the gears in motion, the friction of metals! The sound of success! I closed the sphere and listened to the wondrous sound of the timekeeper! I was victorious!

All would be over soon I thought! Now I had to see its purpose! But before I had the chance, several men in uniform burst into the room. My instincts told me to run and I did. From the living room where I stood victorious, I jotted towards the steps and up to where my bedroom was. I was so close. I could not lose! My mind was screaming in victory despite my situation. I nearly fell when my legs gave way. The hands of one of the young officers latched upon me.

Anger and defiance continued to stir; like the fool that I was, I assaulted the officer with the heel of my shoe. I struck him once, twice, thrice in the face until his grip failed. I was laughing. I was ecstatic. Tears streamed down my face. The world no longer made any sense to me. Torn between victory and defeat, my only instinct was to defy and defy and defy. I crawled up the stairs with but one hand and my stumbling legs.

In the heat of the moment, I dropped my glorious project. The rusty orb bounced down the steps, nearly hitting one of the officers as it lands on the floor below. I was afraid that it might have broken. The ticking was still active in my head however. I still had my chance. I needed to get that orb. I must twist it. Need to. Have to. I dove into the crowd of officers, knocking them down as I latched onto my project.

I cried and cheered, even when the officers stated wailing on me with their batons. Arms reached down to haul me up and over, and I thrashed about repeatedly. With a twist of my hand, I twisted the sphere. In an instant, everything went black.

I found myself standing, bruised, bloodied and beaten. My breath was heavy and ragged. But pain had long since left my body. I had this feeling of dread overcome me. Dread, confusion… and something more. I moved my hand around as if to reach for something. Anything. As though I was in a pitch-black room.

I felt my hand grace something. A door? I could not open it. Fear crawled up my spine as I found myself locked in somewhere. Was I at my house? Where am I? What did that sphere do? I had myself so many questions and no clear answers. Without thinking, I took a few paces back and ran against the door.

Relief came over me when I found myself hitting the pavement. The pain returned to me. I coughed and groaned in pain, taking the moment to relish in that feeling. I stood up, laughing aloud as I achieved victory. At last… victory and freedom. For the first time in my life… I felt great. I was not tired… I was not hungry. I was not thirsty or weak. I felt amazing.

It was dark out. The lampposts from one end to the next lighted up the streets. It was impossible though. How was it dark out already? It was just morning when I finished the goddamned sphere! I could still hear it working! Click, click, click; the ticking sounds echoing out as I placed my ear to it.

What did it do? How exactly did I end up here in the dead of night? Was the sphere responsible? So many questions. Questions with no answers. I was wrecked with confusion. Everything felt so out of place. Nauseous and disorientated, I lost all sense of time. When I checked my watch, I noticed that the time was not what I had imagined it to be. The hands read ten fifteen. I looked at the nearest town clock and saw the time was eleven fifteen. In the evening.

I made my way towards the shantytown where my family was. I was so busy trying to wrap my head around what happened that I nearly forgotten about my dear brother’s death. With haste, I rushed without consideration of my own wellbeing. The pain receding once more.

Then, I made it to the park. Rusted metal desperately trying to hold up together what would be considered housings. I looked and looked around, noticing that there were only a few people up late. I recognized two of them right away. My youngest brothers. Lucas and Justin. When I appeared before them however, they barely even recognized me. They looked upon me as though I was but a mere stranger.

‘Where is mother?’ I asked. And almost as if on cue, she appeared out of the shanty house, worse than when she was before when he saw her that morning. I apologized for being late and attempted to talk about my brother.

‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘How did you know that name? You’re no son of mine.’

I was completely taken aback by her response. She looked as though she had never even met me before in my life. I started to panicked. From my reaction, I could tell it frightened her. But it didn’t frighten her as much as I told her about my father, what he does, what he did, the war, the workshop. She told me she only had three sons. They had no one named Calvas.

I stood there, nearly about to cry. She thought I was crazy or some stalker. I wanted to scream at her, I honestly wanted to scream. But something stopped me from doing that. I plead for her to remember, but she would not have any of it. She screamed for me to leave them alone.

The day came. I was left sleeping in one of the alleyways of the city. I was lost, distorted in my confusion and disparity. She acted as though I had not even existed. That I was some completely different person. I had the face of my mother, and even then, she could not recognize me.

I had to be sure. I had to be sure this was a dream. I pinched myself, struck myself in the face, and rammed my head against the wall. Aside from searing pain, I was still awake. Again, I panicked. Only I felt worse off than I was before. I rushed around the city, visiting people I knew.

One by one, none of them said they knew me. None had even met me. No name was familiar to them. They only knew of my father who owned a clock shop. Nothing about any eldest son. My heart was aching. Could no one truly recognized me?

I investigated the bank that tried to evict me from the premise. The previous owners had abandoned the house since the start of the depression. No one by the name of Calvas Jones ever owned the establishment. Except his father… my father… Lucius Jones.

I was alone. I talked to people, listened to them, tried to get answers… but I realized that I was alone. Somehow… I was alone in this world. Impossible though. I was here. I am present. I still exist. Yet at the same time, I felt as though I did not exist at all.

A thought came to me. I was still holding the sphere. Slowly I looked down at it, holding it in both of my hands now. Hands trembling, lips quaking, tears streaming down my face; I realized then what had occurred. Gently, I gripped the top of the sphere. This time however, I twisted it in the opposite direction.

I had read books as a child. Ones that had science fiction or mere fantasy elements rather than the typical novels that were out in that time. One of them was about time travel. Though what I’ve been going through did not match anything like in the books. Just to test it, I waited with the sphere locked with the top twisted in the opposite direction. I saw everything around me. Everything… as though they were going in reverse.

I released my hand from the orb. I was panting and whining trying to overcome this anxiety I was having. Like a maniac, I rushed back to the shanty housings in the park. This time it was daylight. I ran into my mother again. In addition, my brother, still alive. Again, they did not recognize me.

I twisted the top of the sphere clockwise this time. I removed my hand once more and approached them. Again, they acted as if I have not met them. Even when just hours ago I had. I felt my whole body tremble. Intense fear had its cold grip around my body. I could not swallow the lump in my throat. My face was soaked with tears.

Please no, I thought to myself. No… it cannot… it cannot be like this. This is not how everything should be! This is wrong! Everything about this was wrong!

I twisted the sphere counterclockwise once more. This time, I twisted it further back, time started to reverse at a greater pace than before. Everything was but a blur. The sun and moon passed by, as did the clouds, the stars, and the blue sky. Everything. People phased through me as if I was not there. I released my hand. I found myself in what appears to be the days before the crash. The days during the beginning of the Great War.

Pure chance I ran into my father. Moreover, like before with everyone else… he did not recognize me. I wanted to cry, plead, and beg him to recognize me. Even if I did… He would probably have me arrested for being a loon. There was nothing. Nothing that showed signs of my existence. Except for… that day.

I could go back, I thought to myself. I could go back to the day when I was born!

I stood before a calendar after arriving in the hospital where I was born. Hand on the sphere, I twisted it and watched as the days reverse once again. I could see the marks being erased on the days that had passed. Months went by… years… all in reverse.

I watched them with heated intent, and slowly dialed the sphere down when I reached that day. That fateful day. Five thirty was when I was born. The time was four. I waited for more than an hour and thirty minutes for them to show. Then five o’clock came. The last thirty minutes were the longest minutes of my life.

When I looked up at the clock, the hands read six fifteen. I left the hospital.

I, Calvas Jones, was born on February 25^th, 1900. But no one was born on that day at this hospital. Calvas Jones… never existed. I never existed. Once upon a time, I did.

Here I am… a man. No more, no less. Standing amid the crowd is a man who no longer exists. Standing on the stage, locked between reality and emptiness, stands a man who can no longer age. A man robbed of the substance of morality. A man who can no longer exist amid the linear patterns of time and space. For the cursed sphere in his hand takes him, leaving without a trace. For all that he had lost cannot be regained. The family he loved can no longer be saved. Look upon him. 

Look upon him and weep.

I am the clock master, and this is my legacy.