“Time really has no meaning, whether you're in eternity or not.

Not literally speaking, anyway. Think about it.

All time is a measurement. Like an inch, or a yard.

The actual distance being measured is there regardless of whether

our idea of how it should be measured exists or not.

So to stop time or turn it back would serve no purpose

but to make watches and clocks obsolete.”
-Brian Booth

Tock…

Tick …

Tock…

Fire does not perform as swiftly as most people would think. It works fine with things like paper, like grass. Both emanate from the cadavers of plants, things that were once alive are quick to take the flame into their being. The flames hungrily devoured the long deceased roses, its petals black and wilted, leaves brown and fragile, a mere breath upon the dead leaves and they would be no more than specks of floating dust.

Ezra could not prove this fact, for he had no breath to test such a thing, but that was what his friend had told him.

And Demi always told him the truth; he was his friend, Demi would never lie to him.

Not in a million years. He had loved Demi. Demi loved him back.

Oh how long ago it seemed when they two would streak through the Manhattan night, light with the fever of each other as their entwined mad laughter echoed in the midnight city, a time in space where the entire universe belonged to them and them alone.

Demi did not laugh with Ezra anymore. Demi did not laugh, he did not joke, he did not dance or whistle or sing, he did not ponder, he did not play his extravagant tricks, he did not scold, he gave no praise, he gave no love, he gave no friendship, he not talk to Ezra, he had known nothing of Ezra for over one hundred years.

It was strange- all those years of Demi running over rooftops, veins alive with electricity, every essence of him bursting with life and yet how easily it had ended- a puff of smoke, a glint of steel and a tiny, shiny, ball that weighed no more than a jingle bell that held no harm, no secret malice as it rolled about in the palm of your hand your hand, cool and innocent. In a cloud of smoke, some steal, and that little iron ball and the world heard no more of Demi.

A shovel, some suits, a few half-hearted so-longs and the world cared no more for Demi. In the course of two days it was as if no one would ever know that a clever agile imp was the one that laughed under the streetlamps, the one that assured aside from everything else there was still at least one soul in the world that, in spite of everything, laughed in the dark and did not care.

No, the world did not remember Demi of 18th Street, nor would they ever.

Ezra sat upright in his velvety chair, arching a tired back, rubbing tired eyes that had not seen sun nor stars for longer than he cared to remember. The sun wasn’t for him anyway.

The sun danced its way around the world gaily marking each passing day taking fitful joy in the fact that this day was the last for someone, the first for someone else. Delighting in its morbid countdown. It was only a matter of time each of the tall, furless creatures that basked in its light would go underground and never heard from again, just like the day before that, and the day before that.

The sun did none of this for him; every day was just like the rest, the nights no different. The passing days were to him as the qualms of a spider are to a businessman: He does not care. He does not wish to. Why would he? It has no meaning to him, no value, you cannot sell it, cannot trade it, cannot use it, so of what good is it? Better to put it out of your mind and get on with things.

But get on with what? It wasn’t like Ezra had a job or family to go to. His family had all long died a long, long time ago and his old job had gone out of business long before Demi had even left. And it had been ages since Demi left. So what was he to do? There was the option of sitting back and watching the world go by- but he would never do that again. It was too agonizing.

When he watched people for too long he began to become attached to them despite his ignorance of the era, of the values of a time that was not his, of people that were not his, people he did not know and likewise did not know him, people that would probably run away if he ever dared approach them. But he liked to watch them all the same.

The only problem was that each being he watched was different, and one by one he witnessed each and every one of them see their last sunset and flung into the ground, lost forever. Down where he couldn’t watch anyone. There would always be more, sure, but how long till they ran out? How long till the man running the people factory said, “That’s a rap” and shut down the factory for good? How long until that all left him? And they all would, everything left eventually. He’d have nothing to watch then.

No, Ezra much preferred it in here. In the dark, dark house on the cold, cold hill, curtains pulled tight, door firmly locked, clocks wound.

Yes, the clocks.

The clocks must be wound, wound every day, polished to perfection, the aura of dust never once touching their pristine surfaces, and even though the house around them crumbled and fell, the clocks were perfect.

They had to be perfect.

He would keep them perfect for as long as he was here to keep them perfect, shining and ticking, ticking, ticking, forever the clocks were ticking.

And he would sit here with them, surrounded by the clocks, his friends, his dear, dear friends that would never ever vanish into the earth.

And such wonderful and unique friends he had with him.

Short clocks, long clocks, tall and fat clocks, clocks that looked like cows and cats and dogs and dragons and chickens and angels and dolphins; clocks with a millions faces, adorned with everything from roman numerals to songbirds, no two faces exactly alike; clocks with hands of glass, hands of gold, hands of steel, hands of silver, hands of wood, hands of plastic, hands of crystal, hands of metal; hands moving, always moving, ever dancing in the same circle over and over until the end of time and singing their pretty little song to him as they danced and danced and danced just for him.

Tick

They said

Tock

They sang.

And that was the song they sang for Ezra every morning, every night

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Tick

And every once in a while some of the other more energetic clocks sang out with a joyous

Cookoo!

Cookoo!

That always made Ezra smile. To see the little bird come out of the clock and sing for him. Just like magic. Without warning it burst out of emptiness to proudly sing its nonsense song to the household.

Yes, Ezra decided, it was just like magic. And it was just like Demi too. Demi would have liked the little bird. He wouldn’t understand why he was here to hear the little bird Cookoo! and Demi was not. It wasn’t fair. But then, according to the mothers of the world, life isn’t fair. But did he even have a life now? It had been so long Ezra could not remember. He didn’t think it mattered anyway. What was life without someone to share it with?

No. That wasn’t true.

He still had his friends, his singing friends that never let him down, never left him, so long as he took good care of them and Ezra always, always took good, good care of his friends, it was the least he could do for their kindness to wait here in the dark with him for the rest of universe to catch up with them.

No, the clocks would not leave him alone in the dark like Demi did.

They were together and always would be.

Until the time when all the clocks stopped ticking, the sun stopped setting, the moon stopped changing and spring didn’t come anymore, until the time when the animals did not come out of their burrows, the people out of their houses, until a time when all was silent.

Even the clocks.

Even he.

Until Time itself came to an end. All Ezra could do was pray that when Time came to a close, it would close with him. It deeply frightened to him to think what it would be like to have even Time leave without him.

In the fireplace the roses had long been taken by the flames. Now, even the fire itself was starting to leave him. Ezra slumped in his chair and did not try to stop its departure. It was its Time, its Time had come. Like his would come someday. Someday…

He watched with a slight sadness as the flame became no smaller than a mouse, no longer even making its crackling laugh, not even making a sad whimper, a desperate plea that it was not ready to go into the darkness, it gave no protest nor goodbye as the final curtain fell and the tiny flicker of light vanished into the land underground, the place Demi went. The land Ezra could never go to.

There, in the ancient room, as the light ran away, the darkness came to greet him, the smoke left behind- just like Ezra was- came to twirl and embrace Ezra in the deep shadows. He smiled half-heartedly at the new smoky friend he could not see, but nonetheless was with him and he did not complain when the smoke too faded away left him in the dark. Ezra did not complain.

He simply brought his knees to his chest and stared into the darkness, listening to his dear, dear friends sing softly to him and waiting for his time.

Waiting, waiting, waiting....

Wait...ing....

Wait... ing.....

Wait... ing.......

Tick ...... Tock

Tick ...... Tock

Tick...... Tock

Tick...... Tock

Tick.