He walked into the meeting room, followed by his men. Some stayed outside guarding the door, while others accompanied him inside. The table in the center of the room was already full except for the chair at the head of the table, which he took immediately. Putting his elbows on the table, he ordered
‘Let’s start’
A few people at the table scrambled to load the slides on the main screen. He was not interested in the preliminary briefing. He looked up at the wall in front of him at the clock.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
He told them to jump directly to the numbers, which his team did immediately. Proud smiles on their faces. There were just two numbers on the slide.
70,000 killed.
33,000 children.
He moved his elbows from the table and relaxed his back on the chair. A smile entered on his lips. He looked away from the slides. But his eyes went back to the clock.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
He forced the sound aside, adopted a business-like tone and addressed the men at the table.
‘These are very good numbers. Better than what we planned for the week. Well done! How is the media being handled?’
‘Contained, Sir’, said a man in the suit, ‘Their silence already bought. ‘ A few voices here and there, but we are successful in numbing them down with crap’.
He looked towards his foreign minister and raised his eyebrows
‘The usual, Sir, ’ he said, smiling. ‘All governments are compliant. Controlling protests, condemning us in public, giving us thumbs up in private, ’ he raised both thumbs as he said it, his two front teeth jutting out like a rabbit’s.
Ugly, thought the man. But good at his job.
The man was happy and looked satisfied. But the clock, he noticed, kept on ticking.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
He forced the sound aside again and smiled to his team.
‘Someone said that they had a surprise for me’
Everyone looked at each other and smiled. Sir, a special video for your birthday. Someone clicked on the remote and a video started playing.
Soldiers were firing at civilians. Men, women, and children were falling like dead leaves. Finally, when no civilian was remaining, a soldier bravely walked up to one of the corpses and dragged a child out of his dead mother’s protective arms. The child was alive. The child tried to run. But another brave soldier timely shoots at his feet. The child fell but started to drag himself towards safety, which didn’t exist. The brave soldier who had released the child from his mother’s arms walked up to the child, and puts a gun to the child’s head, and looked bravely into the child’s eyes. The child didn’t know what was happening or was going to happen. The brave soldier solved the puzzle and shot him twice. Life went out of the child’s body like a cool breeze blowing from east to west.
The man at the head of the table started clapping.
‘Bravo. Bravo,’ he yelled. As if his favorite team had just scored a goal.
Everyone in the meeting room started clapping with him. As the clapping died down, the man sat back on his seat. He felt powerful. And no one, no one was able to stop him.
‘No one will ever be able to stop me, ’ he thought to himself. He sat back on his chair.
‘A job well done, gentlemen. But this isn’t over. Next week, I want these numbers doubled’
Everyone nodded excitedly as they started to leave the room and prepare for the next week.
The room grew silent. He looked at the clock again.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
“What are you looking at?” he asked the clock mockingly. Then he smiled cruelly. “The most powerful man in the world?”
“No,” said the clock. “You are not.”
He looked up slowly.
“Oh? And who, exactly, stands more powerful than me today?”
“It is I. Your humble friend. Time. The most powerful. Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. I am the most powerful being God has created in this world”
“You?” He gave a short laugh. “You hang on a wall all day.”
“True,” said the clock. “That is probably why men like you spend their whole lives pretending I am not there. Until I am the only thing left.”
His smile remained, but only barely.
“What do you mean?”
The clock took the shape of a man and began walking slowly towards him. The man panicked. He was about to call for his guards when the clock spoke.
“Don’t call them. They will only think you have gone mad. And then your end will come sooner than you think. I will not hurt you. Not yet, anyway.”
“I am not afraid of you,” the man said, his palm turning into a fist. “I control you.”
“No,” said the clock, tilting its head. “You don’t.”. And then it leaned closer.
“I. Control. You. And many men like you.”
The clock walked up to him, patted him lightly on the head, then on the shoulder. Then it pulled out a chair and sat beside him, close enough for the man to hear the ticking from inside its chest. The same dreaded ticking he has been trying to force away from his mind.
“See, you are a proud man. Cruel, yes. But proud. You are pleased with yourself because you have killed thousands. But tell me, do you know how many I have killed? Millions.
Millions upon millions.
You kill with a button. From a distance. Most of your victims do not even see you coming. They do not even have time to understand their pain.
Except that poor child, perhaps, who had just a few seconds.
But I am not like you. I do not kill in an instant. I wait. I watch. I take things away slowly. Your strength first. Then your sleep. Then your pride. Then your mind.
You will beg for death. But death will not obey you. Death will look towards me, its master, and ask me, ‘Is it time?’
You may put a gun to your head and pull the trigger. You may swallow every pill in your palace. But even then, it will not be you who decides. I will choose when you die. Me.”
The man was visibly shaken, but he forced out a nervous laugh.
“You are just a clock,” he said. “Tick. Tick. Tick. That is all you can do.” He tried to look brave. But he knew. Somewhere deep inside, he knew.
“Ah,” said the clock. “There it is. The brave face.” It leaned closer.
“But I can see behind it. I can see your eyes. Your heart. Your mind. Even the darkness in your soul.” The clock paused.
“I can smell the fear in your sweat. I can see it in your trembling hands, in your pinched brow, in the way your breath catches before every word.” It smiled.
“You are afraid. Terribly afraid.
And you should be.”
“Why should I be afraid?” he asked, trying to sound relaxed.
“Because you know your end very well,” said the clock. “You are a literate man. You have read history. You know what happens to men like you. One day, you will retire. Or you will be removed. Surely you will be replaced. And then you will lose everything.
Soon, another man will sit in this chair. Another man who will believe that he is the most powerful man in the world. Perhaps he will come for you. Perhaps he will not.
But I will.
I will come for you, my dear friend. In fact, I will never leave you. You will be sitting with your family. Playing with your children. Bathing. Swimming. Eating. Laughing. Even making love. Whatever you are doing, I will be there. With you. Inside you. Inside your brain.
Ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Slowly at first. Then louder and louder. You will try to silence me. But fail. You will try to fight me. But fail. You will try to drown me, in drink, in drugs, in anything that can cloud your mind. But fail.
I will keep ticking. I will keep eating you from inside. You may escape the courts. You may escape the mobs. You may escape the men who hate you. But you will not escape me. Because I am your friend.
Little by little. I will take your strength. Then your sleep. Then your peace. I will dim your eyes. Dull your ears. Crack your bones, one by one. I will make every breath feel borrowed. And when the end comes near, you will know it. Because you would be able to see them.
‘Who?’ he asked, trying to drink water from the glass in front of him, but the glass was empty. His throat was dry.
All the ones you have killed. They will begin to visit you. Eager. Waiting. Almost joyful. At first, only in dreams. And then, outside of them. They would be right there in front of your eyes. No one else can see them except you. They will stand there, looking at you, straight into your face, into your eyes”
“I did what I need to do.”, he said, growling.
“Oh, and surely I will do what I need to do,” said the clock.
“I will command death to become an itch inside your body. You will scratch and scratch, but you will not be able to reach it. You will feel helpless. Just like that child. And then, then you will see them.
Dark men, with dark faces, and dark shadows – making everything dark around them. Everything inside and outside of you will become sombre and black.
And then they will pull your soul from your body. It will feel like wet wool caught in thorns being dragged through your veins. You will scream, but no one will hear you. You will weep, but no one will see your tears. And then do you know what will happen?”
“I will die. ‘Everyone has to die. And so will I’”
“No,” said the clock. “No. No. No. That is where all of you are wrong.
You will not die.
Your death will die.
Do you understand that? Your death… will die!
You, on the other hand, will live forever and ever. People will mourn your passing. Perhaps they will give you a grand funeral. Perhaps they will write your name in history. But you will not be dead. You will be alive. More alive than you have ever been. And then your punishment will begin.”
The man looked nervously at the clock.
“Death will not end your pain. In fact, your suffering will only begin. Dark forces will come and beat you until there is almost nothing left of you. Then you will be made whole again. Not as mercy. But so the pain can begin again. They will beat you again. You will feel every blow. You will cry. You will scream. You will beg. But they will say, ‘Didn’t you know? Did no one tell you?’. And you will say…”
‘Yes. I will say Yes’
‘Good boy, ’ shouted the clock in glee and triumph, patting him on his back. ‘You will say yes. YES! Yes, my dearest friend, who was there with me from the time I was conceived till the very end, TIME, had told me. Showed me all the signs. But…’ the clock turned his fist into a mic and placed it in front of his mouth.
‘But I didn’t listen. I was proud. I wanted to feel powerful. I wanted people to envy me. Fear me.’
‘Every moment after that’, said the clock somberly, ‘your torture will only increase. The pain, the anguish, the anxiety, and most of all the sorrow. The sorrow of what you have done. The price that you have to pay for your deeds. The sorrow will eat you bit by bit. You will shout. And you will beg mercy. But no one will listen to you for centuries and centuries. Till one day, a window will open.
That child will look down at you from the skies, from among endless green gardens, a green so rich you have never seen its like before. And do you know what he will say?
He will say, “You thought you ended me.”
The clock leaned closer.
“But you did not. You thought you killed me. But I am alive. You thought you Won!. But you lost!
The child will say that from the day you snatched me from my mother’s dead arms was the day my trial ended and your fate was sealed. Since then, I have had nothing but peace and you nothing but anguish, sorrow and pain. I have my mother. My father. My brothers. My sisters. We eat what we want. We have all that we need. We know no fear. No hunger. No pain.
You did not destroy me. You only destroyed yourself.
The man was shaking terribly now. His throat was dry.
“You will beg them for mercy. For forgiveness. But the window will close. And you will return to the same dark fate.”
The clock leaned back in its chair. The man looked at it. But the chair was empty now.
He turned towards the front wall. The clock was there again, hanging in its place. Looking at him. Smiling at him.
“Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick,” it said.
Then it whispered, “I will catch up to you.”
The man broke. He pulled out his gun and fired. Once. Twice. And then again and again till the chamber was empty. His hands were shaking, but every shot struck the clock. The glass exploded. The frame cracked. The hands twisted. Pieces flew across the room and scattered over the table and floor.
His men rushed in at the sound of the gunshots. They found him standing there, breathing hard, his gun still raised. His face was pale. His shirt clung to his back with sweat. In the few minutes they had been outside, he seemed to have aged a hundred years. They looked from him to the shattered clock. Pieces of it lay on the floor. Pieces lay on the table. A broken part still hung from the wall.
“Sir? Is everything all right?”
The man did not answer. There was nothing that he could say. There was nothing that he could ever say again. He lowered the gun, pushed past them, and hurried out of the room. His men followed. Silently, he told himself he had killed it. At the very least, he had stopped that mocking tick-tock of the clock.
But then, from somewhere deep inside his brain, it returned. Clear. Slow. But getting louder.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
