Author's note: I turned this version in as a rough draft to my English 313 class, the majority of which had not read Lois Lowry's "The Giver" after which the society in this short story is based. While I do not believe having read the novel is neccesary, my professor seemed to have gotten lost on various points I feel were made clear by my deliberate mention of the novel in the beginning. To be honest, I thought my professor was an idiot and still do, but due to his comments I just thought I'd mention the reference to "The Giver"s society is deliberate in order give a more proper view of the society which would have detracted from the story itself. Eitherway, read on and please feel free to tear it to pieces if you feel the need, my professor certainly did but at least try to be constructive, which my professor wasn't. Thanks.

Broken Clockwork

“Hey, Leo?” I cast an irritated glance at my older brother.

“Yes?”

“Bed, now.”

And that’s how it goes, every single time. Like clockwork, we have the conversation once or twice a week. Every word spoken, every movement made, a precise utterance and gesture whose effect seems as if it has already been calculated.

“But...!”

“I’m sitting across the room, the lights are at half strength and I can still see the dark circles and bags under your eyes,” I sighed irritably, “I won’t repeat myself. Bed, now.”

“What...” Leo complained. “Just let me...”

“Now.”

And perhaps it has. Nothing is ever unexpected.

“Okay, okay. Jeez...”

“You sure-”

“-are troublesome.”

Think about that old book, probably something you were required to read during sixth grades reading class, before high school combines ‘language arts’ and ‘reading’ to make ‘English’. Anyway, if you’ve graduated middle school, most likely you can remember the perfection human society had somehow attained in “The Giver”.

Then again, there’s always the off chance that you don’t remember... or maybe you just didn’t read the book. Either way, that’s what it’s like. Everything is planned, there are no deceptions, no exceptions and, certainly, no questions. Even from the children.

Except that’s the lie. The very rules of society say that lying is not done. It is made clear from the start that to lie is unforgivable, and yet when Jonas receives his instructions the readers are given implied acknowledgement that all adults are allowed to lie, and indeed do so on a regular basis with little or no hesitation.

And that’s us.

Our routine never varies, because it covers our lies. The inherently strict nature with which we perform our acts is our shield. We are the adults, given to lying, knowing that the others lie as well but never realizing, or allowing recognition of the fact, because, as our world is deeply entrenched in the denial of such truths, that recognition would be the single step off the cliff, spelling disaster even as the end has not yet arrived.

We, and they, exist where there is no room for the unexpected. It doesn’t exist because it cannot, or the whole tapestry we have woven falls apart without room for recovery.

It’s safer this way... we think. We’re not sure because to be perfectly honest, we don’t want that uncertainty in our lives. Therefore the unexpected is, for want of a better word, ignored.

Right, unexpected... I say it as if I can see the future, and when it comes to my twin, sometimes I wonder. Perhaps there is something to the idea of preternatural abilities and creatures, such as a single man holding the memory of pain for an entire society. It is only a thought though, one that passes each time, after but a moment of contemplation and the gears turn, unhindered, as they always do.

“Hey, Leo?” I cast an irritated glance at my older brother.

“Yes?”

“Bed, now.”

“But...!”

“I’m sitting across the room, the lights are at half strength and I can still see the dark circles and bags under your eyes,” I sigh irritably, “I won’t repeat myself-”

“Then don’t!”

Until tonight that is.

It isn’t his vehemence that startles me, nor is it my almost unresponsive “fine...” which affects him. It is the abruptness with which it happens. It has never happened before, ever... and for all intents and purposes it shouldn’t have. This is something beyond our realm of calculation and if we continue, as we must to preserve our illusions, then we enter the unknown. It is a scary thought, and yet, neither my elder brother nor I have ever thought ourselves to be cowards.

I can see the same thoughts in my brother’s eyes, how alike we are... even in our differences. He will not turn back, and neither will I.

“Then,” he almost doesn’t say it, “do you wanna take a walk?” It’s nothing quite so overt as a pause in speech, but the hesitation is still there.

“Let’s get Selena first.”

“All right.” Leo pushes the chair back from underneath the computer desk, allowing the room needed to stand.

I head to grab my coat from the closet, with the intent of getting his as well. Only when I reach for his jacket do I realize: he won’t care. This weather means nothing to him, so I leave it alone as my arms slide into their respective sleeves.

Behind me there is a swishing sound, I recognize it as the opening of the front door.

“Coming?” The question doesn’t ask for a response, so I don’t give one.

I step, a moment after he does, into the cool night air. It is snowing, and has been for a while. At this point even the pavement is lightly dusted in the fine powder. Nothing has disturbed its perfection: not humans, not automobiles, not even the few animals that still run wild in our suburban development.

Perfection at its most perfect, and if you’ve ever seen such a thing, then you realize the expression isn’t redundant. It is the idyllic image, which seems, in it’s pristine precision, to desire imperfection, else it finds itself held to too high a standard.

The silence we have now entered is not one to be broken. We are not the ones to break it, nor could we be as our shoes, and whatever slight crunch they might make, are cushioned by the layer of snow beneath them.

The walk to Selena’s house is a short one, measured either by the number of blocks (which incidentally is three) or in minutes (again three, five if you’re being really lazy) and soon my brother and I are standing outside her front door.

I raise my hand to knock and almost hit my friend in the face instead as she opens the door a moment before I can complete the intended action. For whatever reason, and I suspect the worst given her mothers boyfriend, she too seems to have a need to remove herself from her house. I won’t call it a home.

I shrug my shoulders as she steps into the frozen air of the winter night. Seeing her ready to walk into the night, as my older brother and I did minutes ago, there is nothing surprising about it. It might even have been expected to a certain degree, for whatever reason I cannot explain.

Back to the preternatural I suppose.

The snow is coming a bit faster now, so that our footprints will soon be but memories. The gentle wind and falling powder wash away our presence, perhaps in order that we might become even more a part of the night’s dignified splendor.

The path we walk is a familiar one. Last year, had we chosen, it would have been the route our bus took during our senior year in high school. Now it is nothing more than a collection of twisting streets and intersections, with neither stop signs nor stop lights, covered by the gentle falling snow and illuminated by the soft yellow light of the street lamps.

Soon, or maybe it is later but time seems to have lost meaning to me, I can feel the cold start to seep through my heavy winter coat. Leo and Selena and I have walked our bus path a half dozen times by now, and the chilly air we breathe has finally penetrated the synthetic material. I can’t say I’m surprised really, and even if I were, I wouldn’t show it. It’s just not something that you do; it indicates something out of place and unexpected.

And of course, the unexpected just doesn’t happen, which is why we’re having our late night walk that we’ve never had before... because it doesn’t happen. I’m sure a there is a certain amount of irony in the situation, if one stops to think about it.

Without thinking I turn left, leaving our old bus run behind. I am seeking something else here tonight, something I have yet to find. Our old bus route does not hold the answer, so then it must lie some place else. I assume my brother and friend have followed my chosen path, for I cannot see them in my peripheral vision and the street remains, as of yet, uncrossed on this night.

There is no one else to cross them and soon, as we pass by an old friends house, I realize, although not for the first time this evening, that we too will disappear. When we enter our houses again, this walk will have meant nothing. The imprints on the then fresh snow will have been covered, hidden from sight by more coats of the momentary diamonds dust. We have accomplished nothing by this small break in our routine, except to enjoy the presence of one another.

By the rules of the world in which we live, to disappear, with no trace that we have been where we shouldn’t, when we oughtn’t, it should be enough, but I know it is not. Not for myself, not for my brother and not for our best friend. To have broken our pattern and stepped into the unknown, there must be something else out here tonight.

I can feel it, in the same way I knew that Selena would be there to join in my brother and my midnight walk. Even in this seeming chaos there is beauty and symmetry, of a kind.

Our walk continues in silence, or it should have. Our feet still have yet to make a single sound as they pass over the snow-powdered ground, but the tension in the air has changed and, if I so wished, a knife would slice through it with ease.

As I strain my senses to their range of their short limit I can here it: a soft crunching in the snow. I step forward, realizing, if only in confirmation, that it is not my old and worn boots that have made the sound.

Leo and Selena move up beside me as I turn to face them. Have they heard the sound as well?

I glance between them. After a moment it becomes obvious. I can tell from their expression that they are each aware of the soft crunching that broke the silence, and that it is not they who made it.

Selena opens her mouth to speak but Leo shakes his head. I agree: words are meaningless at the moment. If we keep walking we will most likely discover what, or rather I should say who, broke the silence.

In unison we turn the corner. Now we find ourselves on a street few travel, even in the daytime. It has an unsavory reputation due to certain, shall we say ‘less desirable’, incidents that are rumored to have occurred around the bridge that crosses a small brook less than a quarter mile from the last entrance, which is where we stand right now.

It is a dead end street that seems dark and uninviting during the day, but now at night... well, the place gives me the creeps. I shiver, as much from the cold that is now seems a permanent part of my being as from the unease I feel. Still, there is a certain beauty here, perfection of a sort in this disregarded section of the development, but it is a forlorn beauty, tinged with great sadness. Something to be shattered with less thought than a twig beneath ones foot for it too, in its sorrow, is perfection beyond comparison and any change will destroy the beauty it holds.

I share a look with my brother and see him nod, even before our eyes have completely met. So then, we shall journey down this path. It is not forbidden, expressly, but there is a certain amount of effort put in to dissuade younger generations to avoid this street whenever possible.

So, just like so many other things this evening, those warnings will go unheeded. Now is not the time to be timid. We three left such moments behind the moment we violated the stillness of the night.

Slowly, ever so much more slowly than we began this walk, my brother, best friend, and I move down the darkened street. Our senses are strained to their limits, seeking to once again detect that briefest of sounds as we had before.

It isn’t long before Selena holds up her arms to stop my brother and I from moving forward. I look inquisitively at her, but she just shakes her head and points. I follow the line of her arm and as I see what she noticed moments before I can feel my eyes widen in shock.

On the edge of the bridge is a girl, no... She is older than that. Perhaps our age but the lack of illumination makes it hard to tell. Her jacket is in a heap by start of the bridge and in her sweater is bunched up at her elbows, but only on one arm. In her left hand is a razor. It’s not exactly clean either, as the crimson stains at her feet tell a tale of recent cutting. Nothing too deep yet, if I am correct. Perhaps she has just started, with all the snow it is possible or perhaps she has not had the courage to finish the act. The latter seems more likely.

However, even this violent self-mutilation is appealing, in its own right, as the blood stains the ground beneath her feet in a careless crimson collage. Layers built on layers, producing a kaleidoscopic effect.

None of us speak as we observe the young woman, but the same thoughts are running through our respective minds.

Suicide: in this world we live in, it’s not something that is discussed, although most people are, in their own way, aware of its existence. But like so many other things, to speak of it is to acknowledge that it actually happens and no matter what, appearances must be maintained. That is the cost of this flawlessness.

We could move on, turn around and walk away, it would be something we never spoke of again and this night would remain as peaceful and pleasant as it had been before we turned down this darkened street. As with everything else not spoken, we would remove it from our minds and our pinpoint clockwork would continue, with everything as it was before.

Would... but had this been a normal night, would we even have been here to observe these happenings? Leopold and I would have already been in bed and Selena would still be in her room, cursing her mother’s boyfriend. For more than a few rather obvious reasons, this night has been anything but our normal, precisely calculated evening.

Even as we stand here, these thoughts on my mind, as well, most likely, as my brother and friends’, the situation continues to evolve.

Now the blade has switched hands. The left arm of her deep purple sweater is rolled and she prepares to make the first incision on her unmarked flesh. Once more she is testing her resolve.

“Idiot,” Leo speaks, derision in his voice and scorn in his eyes.

The girl turns slightly, a startled look on her face, and her eyes widen as she finally notices the three strangers observing her dangerous game.

Four pairs of eyes meet and I recognize her immediately. Katy Chang, the top graduate from the Eagle Stream High School graduating class of ’04. My brother and my class. I would never say that we three were friends, but there is a mutual respect there and if not mutual, then it is safe to say that I respect her.

She had everyone’s respect and to find her here now, in this situation... it feels more than a bit odd, to say the least. Then again, it may be because she has everyone’s respect that we find ourselves in such a predicament now.

Slowly we approach her position, and now our feet disturb the silence as well.

We all have friends, this much is true. They are the ones we go to when we need to confide in someone, someone who will understand and is on our own level. But the ones you put on a pedestal and say, ‘they have no equal’, who do they go to?

Apparently no one, and when the best of the best fall we ask ourselves ‘why?’ and wonder ‘how did we not see it coming?’.

“What will this achieve, Katy?” I ask the question cautiously, testing the waters before I dive in.

If I remember, back in high school, Katy’s mother and younger sister were killed in our senior year. It wasn’t a murder or anything deliberate. There was an accident, I think. A car accident on... There were rumors of course, mostly they placed the accident around this bridge, but no one I know ever really wanted to come here and confirmed it, so we never knew for sure.

The thing is, her grades didn’t change and she never said anything about it, never cried, but there was something different about her. Something in her eyes... was colder, more distant.

“Katy...?” Leo prompts her when she does not respond immediately, bringing my attention from my reverie to the present.

“It will- this,” she points to her wrists. “This will achieve nothing. I know that. How could I not, after acing AP Bio? The wrist is the least effective place if you want to put an end to your life.”

Behind me I hear Selena mutter, “Down the street, not across,” and there is a rustle of fabric followed by a small noise of annoyance, which I can only assume means Leo punched her lightly.

I’m not sure as my attention is completely on the fellow graduate before me, “Why?”

“Do I want to end it?” she lets out a slightly hysterical laugh, her eyes are glazed over slightly, although I doubt she is on drugs of any sort. “Because no understands anything or anyone. Not me, not who I am. Nothing beneath the surface is ever questioned in this world that we live in. Have you ever realized that?”

Leo, Selena and I exchange guilty glances.

“Yes, you have. That perfect clockwork with which our society moves... it makes it too difficult to maintain such a level, when no one challenges it. Especially when... I have- if there is no support at home... So,” she moves the razor from her wrist to her throat, “I want it all to end.”

Slowly she begins, once more carving into her tender flesh, apparently ready to rend life from limb, or rather, neck. Is this how it really ends? With no words of compassion spoken, only guilty glances by those who have understood and yet done nothing? This... cannot...

“No!!” the word is out of my mouth before I can stop it, or register the possible implications.

In the corner of my eye I can see my brother already moving and, without thought for the consequences of our actions, I join him. Our actions are simultaneous, as per usual.

It takes a few simple motions on his part, a sharp jab and precise knowledge of which tendons and nerves to strike, but in an instant Leo is finished. The knife is now free in the air and his momentum on the slick road carries him past Katy.

The moment after the blade is freed from Katy’s grasp I make contact, even as I see my brother’s arm lash out to snatch the stained blade from its twisted flight. I use as much of my strength as I can gather on this icily polished road, intent on knocking her as far away from the sharp edge of her suicide tool as I can.

She and I hit the ground hard a good four feet from where my brother has finally skidded to a stop on the icy road, the razor in his left hand, blood dripping where his fingers caught the edge. Around us snow scatters, like dust on a dry plain, from the unkempt blades of grass as the impact forces it out from beneath us in a gentle shockwave.

In that moment the utter perfection, which existed before in the night, is shattered. Now something else will reign, and I do not know if it will be as beautiful in perfection or hideously marred by flaws but when it arrives, that scene will be a sight to behold.

Katy is the first to get up, a scared look on her face, but her eyes are different. They have reverted back to how they were before the death of her mother and younger sister. Those are the eyes of the one the student body recognized as the most talented among us and thus voted in as class president four years running. Finally, there is clarity in them.

“Thank you, for caring,” the words are so soft I might have imagined them, had I not noticed her lips moving.

‘It was nothing’ is what I want to say, but that would be a lie... It wasn’t nothing, because by all rights none of this should have happened; she knows this as well as I.

“We always did. Now was just it mattered that we showed it.”

Leo speaks our answer, so I smile instead and hand her my scarf, to wrap her wrist for the walk home. There are no more words spoken as she takes it but there is a smile on her face as well when she leaves.

With that finished I turn to face Leo and Selena. The ambience of the night is different, calmer perhaps but that is not the most noticeable difference. The tension has lessened, so quickly it is almost painful in its swift departure.

For all that has happened, I see that my brother is still wearing his usual indifferent expression, despite the gash on his palm, as well as the tattered long-sleeved blue wolf shirt that is his favorite. In addition, his legs are covered by the worn black pants he helped himself to from my closet when I stopped taking kung-fu a few years ago. On his feet are a pair of brown winter boots and his head, the only comfort he allows himself to acknowledge he needs in the winter, is a woolen cap that covers all but his ragged brown bangs as they fall to the right of his stern but gentle face. Otherwise his attire is unimportant, he enjoys the cold.

Selena, as always, is wearing black pants. This particular pair has many chains and pocked adorned, but they hold nothing. For her their functionality is a moot point. Her heavy winter coat is a dark purple, almost obsidian in it’s shiny appearance. It has but two pockets on the outside and no un-needed accessories. Her shoes are black Sketchers, the same as all her other shoes, she requires no variety. Her black cap has a teddy embroidered on the front and her once-ironed-straight bangs frame her face in a violet tangle.

It is strange to see them, the same as I have many times before and yet, now we are different. As with Katy, the events of the night have changed us.

For a moment no words are spoken as the reality of what has just happened to us sinks in. Then, at the same instant, three mouths open and the words we want to speak tumble out in an excited jumble of emotions.

“That was-”

“Can you believe-”

“Imagine-”

I stop first, an introspective look on my face that does nothing to alleviate the intensity that has charged the air around us. My brother and friend follow in suit a moment later.

“You first,” Leo indicates Selena and I nod my head in agreement.

“Can you believe what just happened?”

“I know,” Leo’s expression is no longer indifferent and there is a charged feeling to him as he holds up the drenched razor before his eyes. “That was something I would never have expected to see... Not from her...”

“Imagine if we had never left the house tonight...” I pause for a moment, my eyes drawn between the blade my brother holds and the bloody mural in the otherwise pristine snow, to rethink what has happened moments before. “She would have...” somehow it seems wrong to finish the sentence.

“Yeah,” my older brother nods his head as his eyes tell me he understands.

“Like clockwork, huh?” a single raised eyebrow has now found it’s way into my features.

“Yeah, in a broken clock,” the words seem harsh but there is a good-natured jib in them as Selena speaks them aloud.

“Well...”

“I know exactly where you’re headed with this.”

Of course he does, we think so much alike at times.

“As Van was saying...” our friend prompts. She is quite obviously irritated, however slightly, by our small by-play, having already been witness to it on many occasions.

“Even a stopped-”

“-clock is right-”

“-twice a day.”

“Of course,” the young woman rolls her eyes.

Leo and I exchange a glance. He shrugs his shoulders, as if to say ‘what she said’.

I snort in response, “Uchi ni kaeritai.”

“He said what?” Selena glances to Leo for clarification.

“I’m not entirely sure... I, well... I never actually got that far,” he smiles apologetically.

“Neither did I,” I feel a grin split my face. “I mean, I did, but actually... actually, I’m not really sure that it’s anything more than baby-talk at the moment.”

“That of course answering our question.”

A small chuckle breaks out in our small group. With the levity of the moment already passed we can see beneath the surface now and admit to ourselves that perhaps, once in a while a moment of imperfection in the meticulous precision required by our daily lives is not such a bad thing.

---

"Uchi ni Kaeritai" translates as "I want to return home"