Michael Angel, The Clock Cleaner

books on the shelf, the dirty dishes that were still in the sink, the stack of mail on the table, and a picture of George and Emily at the beach hanging on the wall. As George walked over to look at the picture of them, he remembered everything about that day; it was the day he asked Emily to marry him. For a brief moment, he felt happy, but it quickly faded away when he noticed Emily’s calendar that hung on her fridge. Mary Lou followed him, but made sure to stand a step away from him. There was complete silence in the house as George put his hand over the date that Emily had circled. “She was just there for an interview that day,” thought George. The date was September 11, 2001.

“I’m so sorry George,” said Mary Lou in the gentlest way she could.

Then out of the silence, George began to weep as he fell to his knees.

MICHAEL ANGEL

“You aren’t enough for me.”

Dwight mouthed the words over and over again. He could still hear Alison’s voice, but the more it echoed, the less familiar it got. He was talking to himself again in the silence of his flat. The radio’s volume was low and all that played was a jazzy tune, reminding him to go to sleep. He didn’t want to; he was too stubborn. He got more and more stubborn with age. That’s probably why she left too. It had been a little more than a month since she officially divorced him and left him for good. But time couldn’t stop him from those words ringing in his head over and over again.

Dwight stumbled as he stood up from his bed. His olive-green overalls were unhinged from the top as they hung from his waist. He held the bottle of vodka in replacement of her hand, and walked over to his flat’s wide, wall-sized window. The streets of Brent, London were empty. The autumn of 1921 was nearing, and with it came the cold isolation of loneliness for Dwight. He felt a soreness in his back, reminding him of how old he was. He was sickened by it. Sickened by himself. Fifty-eight years on this earth and nothing to show for it, not even his wife anymore. As he looked out into the empty streets of London, his reflection stared at him. He saw the balding man in the reflection and groaned. Before he could notice anymore, he stumbled away from the window, his hand on his back to make it easier.

“You’re a disgrace,” Dwight whispered to himself.

As he walked back to the bed, he noticed the alarm clock sitting next to it on the nightstand. It read 11:37, and Dwight groaned again. Not just at the time, but at the pain, too. His body was fighting him from the inside, as if a whole other person was trying to break out of him. He placed the vodka bottle on his desk and walked out of his bedroom to the bathroom.

Dwight trembled in an attempt to grab his toothbrush, but the mirror distracted him. He looked at the old man again. The more he stared at him, the more he hated him. The old, washed up face staring back at Dwight forced him to notice the wrinkles on his forehead and cheeks, the crow’s feet underneath his eyes, the dry, aging lips beneath the peeling skin. Everything he saw he grimaced at. His eyebrows narrowed in anger, until finally, he broke. Dwight yelled at the mirror and punched it, shattering the glass. Silence overtook the bathroom, until all that Dwight heard was the buzzing of the lamp. Dwight grabbed onto the sink for

support, until his drunkenness overtook him, and he fell to the floor. He stayed there for the night, too stubborn to move.

Dwight awoke the next morning with pain all over. His aging back woke him up, shouting at him with soreness. As he started to come to, pain from different areas of his body reminded him of last night. Dry blood resided on his right hand’s knuckles and the floor, and his head was pounding with a hangover headache.

He made his way to the bedroom again, where the radio was still spouting the jazz music, which just felt like noise to him, only this time, his hangover amplified it ten times louder. The clock read 6:25, and he knew he would be late to work… again.

After taking thirty minutes to change into another set of overalls, brush his teeth, and drag himself out the door, Dwight walked to work, or at least he tried to. The hangover was making it hard for him to think straight, and he could still feel a sense of drunkenness as he walked. As he made his way down the streets of London towards the Big Ben palace, he reminisced on how him and Alison used to walk to their own respective jobs. They would make coffee in their own thermos cups, pack their lunches, and be on their way, arm in arm. He would drop her off at the Aberdeen Press newspaper office and would go to the Big Ben, where he worked as a clock cleaner in the top floors of the tower. The work was awful, having to clean the rustic gears and dust the room constantly, not to mention his supervisor was a grade A arsehole. But seeing Alison afterwards always made it worth a hard day’s work, especially since his body didn’t let him move around as he used to.

For more than twenty-five years, Dwight and Alison were happy. She was his better half, he used to say. Alison always put him first, and she did it out of the goodness of her heart. She was always so generous, which is what made him fall in love with her in the first place. If there was a sick puppy in the road, she would be by its side in seconds, Dwight thought. He loved that about her because he couldn’t bring himself to be how she was, but she loved him for him. No one ever really did except for her. She saw the goodness in his stubbornness; she could talk him down from his anxious episodes and be the one he needed to give him reassurance in the harsh realities of life. Yeah, they were poor, but their love for one another made the concept of wealth nonexistent. At least, that’s how it was for a while. That changed over the years in her heart. She had always rolled with the punches. Whether it was unpaid bills or Dwight’s own personal angst taking over, she smiled through it. Unfortunately, their twenty-year age difference made her question what exactly she deserved in life.

“I never owned a brand-new purse, Dwight,” Allison said in frustration one day. She was right. He never bought her anything to show his appreciation. Eventually, his appreciation for her got masked by his own personal agendas. She stopped caring, and he didn’t think a single thought about it. Instead, she left in surprise, and he had to deal with it.

Dwight fiddled with his coat pocket as he walked down the streets of London, feeling the chilly autumn breeze blow past his face. His fingers felt dry and his breath wreaked of vodka underneath his gray scarf, but the warmth of the alcohol kept him from feeling too cold. London was bustling at seven a.m., with everyone scrambling to and fro for the workday.

By 7:45, he had made it to the Big Ben. He sluggishly walked through the double doors of the tower and saw his supervisor standing in the middle of the lobby. He was a big, burly man and always wore the same three-piece navy-blue suit with a burgundy tie. His head was mostly absent of hair, with just a few strands combed over the side. His arms were crossed, and he had a stern look in his eyes.

“You’re late… again, Dwight.” The man’s voice was deep and angry.

“I know, Barry, my apologies.” Dwight’s voice was fatigued, both from walking so much and from having to hear his boss’s voice say the same thing over and over again every weekday.

Barry let out a deep sigh, as if he were already tired of hearing Dwight speak. “I don’t wanna hear any excuses, just clock in and go. You know your place.” He pointed behind him, signaling him to leave.

Dwight sighed and walked past Barry to the clock-in machine. The lobby was bustling with workers; secretaries, businessmen, and janitors all walked through with some purpose completely absent from Dwight’s mind. He wrote down his arrival time and as he placed his timecard into the punch-in machine, he overheard two janitors talking behind him. They were trying to whisper, but that was rather difficult to do in such a bustling atmosphere.

“Isn’t that Dwight,” one asked.

“Yeah, he doesn’t look so good. I heard his wife left him,” the other said in a low tone.

“Wow, at his age, I’m surprised he’s still standing.” The two laughed and went on their way, talking about some things and others.

Dwight sighed again and worked his way up the tall, ever-growing staircase. He took every few minutes or so to catch his breath, and once he finally reached the floor he was assigned to, he sat down on the ground to rest. The room was dark and barren, with nothing but the massive clock’s gears making noise. His cleaning equipment resided in the corner of the room. He placed his lunchbox and coat down by the tub of clock cleaning supplies and grabbed the large bottle of greasing oil and sponge. Since the clock has been turning for several decades, the gears got awfully rusty over the years. So, clock cleaners like Dwight had to grease the gears to make sure they turned smoothly. Twenty years of doing this, and Dwight got tired of it in two. After cleaning the gears in his station, he went on to dust and sweep the room.

After two hours, Dwight was tired, and decided to reach into his coat for his flask he had stored rum in. After a few sips, his body began to feel warm in the cold, desolate clocktower. He placed his wrinkly hand on his dry cheek and panted.

“What in the bloody hell am I doing here,” Dwight whispered to himself. His emotional fatigue was more than enough to make him want to leave. He decided to grab his coat and scarf and walk toward the empty backroom staircase.

He made his way down the stairs and slipped out of the giant palace without a single soul noticing. After getting away from that glorified clock, Dwight decided to walk to the park him and Alison used to always go to. Every now and then, he took a sip out of his flask, feeling the rum rush through every inch of his body, giving him a sense of warmth, but not enough.

The park was full of children and their mothers, all walking along the stone paths and grassy field, some throwing pieces of bread to ducks, others sitting with umbrellas and clinging to one another to withstand the cold September breezes. Dwight stood along a hill that overlooked the park and watched as the citizens of London lived their lives. As he took occasional sips from his flask, he wondered if Alison might have allowed him to drink as much as he had been since she left. She’d probably be disgusted, he thought to himself.

Dwight rested his back and leaned on a tree by the park’s lake. The tree’s leaves had begun to change colors, some even falling to the ground already. Fall had come early this year, and a luring sense of loneliness hung over Dwight’s shoulders. As he sipped from his flask more frequently, he started to realize how little he had left to lose. Thanksgiving was going to be lonely; just the word “Christmas” alone sounded hollow and unfamiliar in his head.

“What can I even do anymore,” Dwight questioned himself. His tone was deprecating and empty. His flask was nearly empty. With each sip he took, his body was starting to heat up much slower than when he started. “If only I can turn back time.”

“What was that?”

Dwight heard an American voice respond from behind him. He turned around to the side of the tree and noticed a man in a long black coat and short top hat standing beside him. The man was young and had a shiny smile. Slightly long, wavy black hair sat underneath his top hat and was swept back. He was rather handsome and fairly tall.

“Sorry, just thinking out loud,” Dwight said with embarrassment. His face flushed and he gave a half-hearted smile.

“Don’t be, we all believe we can, ya know.” The man’s voice was smooth and friendly.

“Believe we can what?”

The man chuckled. “Turn back time. Isn’t that what you said?”

Dwight raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. “Oh. Yes, I guess so. Sorry, my name is Dwight. Dwight Morgan.” He reached his hand out and shook the mysterious figure’s.

“Nice to meet you, Dwight,” he said with a smile. “You’re awfully apologetic, aren’t you?”

“Haha, I guess so. My wi- uh, ex-wife said it was one of my flaws.” Dwight caught himself mid-sentence. He scratched his face nervously.

“I see. Tell me, Dwight, why do you want to turn back time? Or rather, wish you could?” He got closer and stood next to Dwight as they both overlooked the lake of the park and its visitors.

Dwight, slightly caught off guard, stumbled on his words. “Oh uh, I mean, well. I wish I could’ve been better. My wife left me not that long ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That must be hard.”

“Yeah, it was. Well, still is. She told me a man my age should have more to live for. Said I wasn’t enough for her. So, she left.”

“That’s bullcrap—oh! Excuse my French.” The man chuckled again and pulled out a pocket watch. He took a quick look at it and put it back in his pocket quickly.

“That’s a nice watch ya got there,” Dwight said.

“Oh, thank you, gift from a friend.”

Dwight nodded and continued to peer out at the park. Couples walked here and there, some with kids. He let out a sigh of regret. He thought about how him and Alison talked about having kids when they were younger, but their age difference didn’t give them the opportunity to. She was a full twenty years younger than him, and he never really wanted kids. Now, he wanted them more than ever. Or at least, he wanted to have one with her more than ever. He realized he had been frowning and caught himself. “Say, what is an American doing in London?”

“I study astronomy, actually. And today is the day of the Great Junction.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s the day Saturn and Jupiter align with the sun. it’s quite beautiful if you think about it, actually. I wanted to take my telescope to the top of the Big Ben palace and see it.”

“I see…” Dwight had a confused tone in his voice. He was poor and not very educated. So, just about everything the American said went over Dwight’s head. “Very interesting…”

The man turned to Dwight and lowered his voice. “Dwight, if you truly had the chance to turn back time, would you?”

Dwight looked taken aback by the stranger’s question. I met this man two minutes ago, why is he asking me such questions, he thought to himself. But he thought about it again, and paused. “… in a heartbeat.”

The man nodded and smiled. “Well, Dwight, I have an opportunity for you.” He reached into his pocket again and pulled out his pocket watch.

Dwight didn’t notice how detailed it was at first, but now he saw how finely crafted it was. The body was pure gold with wave-like designs etched around

the surface, with a single eye crafted on the center of the back. The front of the watch was a light beige, with black roman numerals counting the hours, and the hands were finely crafted gold, both extremely detailed. There was a top button, like all watches, but unlike others, this one had two buttons on the side: a pause button and a play button. Dwight looked at the two buttons confusingly. Nevertheless, he couldn’t take his eyes off of how gorgeous it was.

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” the man said, breaking Dwight’s trance.

“Yeah, it really is,” he said, happily.

“This watch is different, though. Look.” The man fixed his top hat and faced the tree. He looked around suspiciously, as if to assure no one was watching them. He then hovered his hand over the tree and began to motion it in a counterclockwise circle.

Just then, before Dwight’s eyes, the tree began to shrink, as if it were aging backwards. Wait, no, it is aging backwards, Dwight thought. His jaw dropped as the tree’s leaves began to restore into their lush, green state, slowly turning into seeds as the tree’s trunk shrunk and shrunk, until all that was left was a small plant not even a meter high in the ground.

Dwight was speechless. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Before he could speak, the man raised his finger.

“Wait, look again,” he said. He hovered his hand over it again, this time moving it clockwise, and the tree grew. It grew and grew, leaves turning green, then brown and yellow, then falling, and growing back again. It happened over and over again until the tree itself began to wilt and its trunk gave out, hunching over, eventually collapsing in death. Once again, he moved his hand counterclockwise and restored the tree back to its original state… or age. The man smiled back at Dwight.

“That… that… no that couldn’t possibly happen,” Dwight exclaimed, dumbfounded. His eyes were wide and his jaw basically on the ground by now.

“Dwight… I want you to have it. You want your wife back? If turning back time will do so, you can have it.” The man’s voice was serious.

“You… you have a deal, mate.”

“Now, getting it will be painful.”

Dwight thought for a second, and finally answered. “I said in a heartbeat, didn’t i?”

The man smiled, tossing the pocket watch over and over in his hand. “Well, congratulations. You will now be the owner of the Eye of Cronus.”

Before the man could speak again, Dwight had to reassure himself. “Wait… all of this… it was real right? How do I know you aren’t pulling my trousers?”

The man leaned closer to him. He then opened his coat and unbuttoned his shirt. To Dwight’s awe, the chain of the pocket watch was actually connected to the man’s chest, as if it were going through his skin. He buttoned his shirt and closed his coat. “Does that prove it?”

“Yes…”

“Alright, Dwight. What will happen next is going to be… painful. To give you this, you have to do something. Here.” He then tossed the watch to Dwight, the chain extending from his chest to the watch. The pocket watch felt light in his hand, but it felt natural, as if he was meant to hold it. It fit his palm perfectly, and rested comfortably between his fingers.

“You have to change the time to six p.m., that is actually 17:00 in Coordinated Universal Time.”

Dwight could barely understand what was going on. Was this magic, he thought to himself. He didn’t care, it was wondrous. “Okay, six p.m.”

“Good, now, press the pause button.”

Dwight pressed it, and in an instant, all time around them stopped. Every person, every duck, every object, stopped in their places. The fall breeze was gone; even birds had halted mid-air. Dwight looked around in amazement, unable to believe what was happening.

“Now…”

Dwight looked back at the man, catching his attention.

“Press the play button.”

“Okay,” Dwight said excitedly.

Dwight nodded in agreement, and pressed the play button. In an instant, Dwight’s eyes widened at what he saw. In a matter of seven seconds, Dwight experienced every memory of his life. From birth to death, Dwight was forced to live through every single moment. He experienced being a baby again, crawling towards his mother in their rusty, Birmingham home. He experienced leaving his small home to go to London and work in the big city. He experienced falling in love with Alison all over again and marrying her in a small cabin outside of London. Alas, he also experienced losing her again, and feeling the pain in not being worth enough for her to die with. He also experienced death, which, unsurprisingly to him, would have been in just a week from drinking. But, not anymore. Now, Dwight had time in his hands. After the seven seconds had finished, he had awoken in the same place he and the mysterious man were in the park seconds prior. Everything was still frozen in place; every life form and object had remained completely still, frozen in time. Dwight fell to his knees and caught his breath. He stood back up, leaning over the tree trying not to throw up.

“What the… what was that…” His voice was exasperated and tired as he tried his best to breathe again. As he slowly recovered, he noticed the pocket watch was still in his hand, only the chain led to his own body. He followed it underneath his coat and overalls. He took his coat off and unhinged his overalls to reveal his shirt. To his surprise, the chain was now connected to his chest, although when he tugged on it and yanked it, it didn’t hurt or pull at his skin. Instead, the chain extended and retracted as he pulled back and forth. This is sorcery, he thought to himself.

“It worked,” he said. “Hey, what was your na-”

Before Dwight could finish his sentence, he realized the mysterious man was gone. He looked everywhere, but to no avail. He had left as quick as he had come. Dwight examined the watch again, grazing his index finger over the finely etched gold. It felt different now that it was his. As he walked around the park again, he pressed the play button once more, and in an instant, everything began to move just as it all had before. Mothers and their children laughed again, the ducks swam, and the birds flew. The world began to carry on its daily duties. Dwight looked at the watch and the tree, and his eyes widened at an idea. As best he could, he hurried home.

He passed through the bustling streets of London and arrived at his flat. Once inside, he took off his coat and walked to the bathroom. When he turned on the light, he looked in slight disappointment at the shattered mirror and dry blood

on the ground. His mind flashbacked to last night, wishing to forget it. But now, he could. He walked in front of the mirror and stared at it. He then raised his left hand in front of it, and held the pocket watch in his other, just as the man did. While still slightly skeptical, he slowly rotated his hand in a counterclockwise motion, and watched in amazement as the mirror’s fragments started to slowly form back into their original shape again, moving backwards in time to before it was broken in the first place. Dwight laughed in amazement and looked himself in the mirror. His laughs slowly dwindled, however, as he saw that same old man in the mirror again. He looked at himself curiously and examined his face. He looked at every wrinkle, every skin peel, every bump and wart that had grown on his face as age grasped its ever-growing hand over him. Finally, he held his hand out in front of the mirror once more and moved it counterclockwise. Right before his very eyes, he watched as his face changed. His wrinkles slowly started to disappear, the crow’s feet under his eyes became lighter and lighter until they disappeared, and his skin became less and less peeled. As he moved his hand, his bones felt less weak, and his body didn’t feel as shriveled. He grew slightly taller and his entire body felt stronger. Brown hair began to grow on his head, and he felt healthier. He looked at himself in the mirror, and the Dwight Morgan from before was completely gone. The Dwight Morgan he now saw in the mirror was the same Dwight Morgan that had married Alison twenty years ago; the same one who had dreams of retiring wealthily with his wife. For the first time in what felt like years, Dwight genuinely smiled.

He began to laugh in the mirror and couldn’t take his eyes off of himself. Eventually, he walked out of the bathroom and turned to the kitchen. He examined all of the old and expired food throughout it. Just then, he grabbed the molded loaf of bread on his countertop and moved his hand counterclockwise. In seconds, the bread was healthy again. He did the same everywhere, and laughed while doing so. Happiness overtook his flat as the old man Dwight Morgan was gone, and in his place stood a younger, healthier Dwight Morgan.

He spent the day aging and reverse-aging things, turning things old and young over and over again. As he did so, he turned on his radio and danced all over his flat, having the time of his life. At one point, Dwight opened his fridge to grab the bottle of rum, but once he looked at the bottle, he realized he had no urge to drink. Instead, he danced the night away. The only thing missing was Alison. He looked at the pocket watch and noticed it was already 11:30 p.m. So, he decided to shower, change, and lie in bed, something he hadn’t done in over a week. While laying down, he looked up at the ceiling, and examined the pocket watch’s every crevice and etch. He knew what he wanted to do now, and he couldn’t wait for the next day.

That night, Dwight slept peacefully.

The next morning, Dwight decided not to go to work. Barry wouldn’t even recognize me, he thought to himself, so what’s the point? Instead, he decided to sleep in, and woke up at around ten a.m. He brushed his hair, brushed his teeth, and changed into clothes that didn’t contain olive-green overalls covered in dust and grease. He grabbed an old gray shirt from his closet and aged it to before it was ripped and over-worn. He did the same with a pair of black slacks and black dress shoes that he used to wear when him and Alison went dancing years ago. He then put on his coat and joyfully left his apartment.

While walking down the streets of London, he felt something absent from himself. It was the pain. There was no more joint pain, no more back pain, and the emotional pain he felt every night had seemed to feel less heavy. Alison, Dwight thought to himself, I’m ready.

He stopped by a flower shop on one of the main shopping districts where radios blared jazz music and London city-goers purchased gifts for their beloveds and children. A young woman and her daughter stood behind the stand and greeted Dwight. He smiled at them and picked out a bouquet of roses and tulips, two of Alison’s favorite flowers. He paid the woman and gave the daughter a smile. As he walked off, Dwight ran his hand through his hair, feeling a sense of confidence that had been absent from him for years. He smiled and walked with his head high as he reached another store near the heart of London. As city-goers passed by Dwight, he walked inside and decided to purchase a bottle of wine. Wine was very rare for him, as he only drank it with Alison on special occasions. After happily purchasing a bottle of white wine, Dwight made his way down the main streets of London towards the housing districts.

As Dwight walked down the streets, he felt his heart beat faster and faster, and his nerves began to make him tense. He hadn’t seen Alison in a month. What will I even say, he thought to himself? He walked with the flowers and wine in hand, and thought over and over about what she would say about how he looked now.

“She said I wasn’t enough. Maybe now she’ll reconsider,” he muttered under his breath.

After a twenty-minute walk, he arrived in front of her doorstep. It was the house the two had bought as a married couple, that she had taken ownership of once she had left him. The yard was well-taken care of, with a green hedge by the brick staircase. The house itself was rather tall with two stories, and was an eggshell-colored white. It was clean and felt like home to Dwight. He felt as if he were coming back from a place he had never known, and he was glad to be

home. He slowly approached the door, and hesitantly raised his fist to it. After taking a few seconds, he knocked three times. For a moment, there was silence, and Dwight shuffled his feet in worry. But, after a while, he heard footsteps. A familiar voice called out, saying “Coming!”

The door slowly opened, and Dwight saw her. He smiled at her face, and while nervous, was joyful to see her again. He looked at her beautiful face, her aqua blue eyes and soft, wavy brown hair that rested on her shoulders. She was wearing a light blue dress and heels. A strand of hair hung over her face near her eyes, and he wanted so badly to brush it away and kiss her, but he knew he couldn’t yet, at least. Before he could speak, he noticed her expression had changed. She wore a face of shock, and Dwight had realized that she didn’t know he had changed.

“D-Dwight?” Her voice was confused, and she sounded as if she were choked up. Her eyes were raised, and she held onto the door, not opening it completely.

“Alison,” Dwight said happily. “Hello.”

“W-what… why… You look different… younger…” Alison could barely speak.

“I changed; you have no idea how. I don’t think you’d believe me,” he laughed softly. He took a step closer to go inside, but as soon as he did, Alison took a step back hesitantly. This worried Dwight, and his smile slightly shifted, but he accepted and stayed outside. “Can I come in?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why? I just… I love you Alison. I want to be enough for you. And I think I can. I know I look diff-”

Before Dwight could finish his sentence, he heard another voice from within the house. It was a man’s voice that was unfamiliar. It was deep and young, or at least younger than Dwight.

“Who’s at the door, love,” the hidden voice asked. But as soon as the question was asked, a hand appeared above Alison’s and opened the door wider. It was a man in a white tee shirt and boxers. He looked closer to her age and had a scruffy beard with wild hair. He was well-built and had a confused expression on his face. “Who is this?”

The bottle of wine slipped from Dwight’s hand and fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces, with yellowish liquid escaping to the ground. Everything

felt as if it were happening in slow motion, and Dwight’s entire body tensed up, frozen in place.

“Wait a minute,” the man said with a smile. “Are you, are you Dwight?” He started to laugh.

Dwight’s face got hot as his smile disappeared. His heart was in his throat, and his legs felt weak, just as they had if he were twenty years older again. “What… what’s so funny?” His voice was shaky, and he couldn’t find any other words to say.

“It’s just, I can finally put a face to it. She’s told me so much about you.”

“Shaun, stop,” Alison interjected. Her face was serious now. She held onto the door, as if searching for something to support her. Dwight looked at her, and back at the man, who now started to walk backwards towards the living room. The man grabbed a bottle of what appeared to be Scotch and poured some into a glass.

Dwight dropped the flowers, this time, willingly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that, I can finally see the loser face to face. I didn’t think I ever would. You look much younger than fifty-eight, though. She said you were bald-”

Just before the man named Shaun could say anything more, Dwight walked through the house and pushed him, spilling the glass of Scotch. Alison shouted Dwight’s name, but he didn’t hear her. Immediately, Shaun punched Dwight in the face, forcing him to fall over. Dwight’s ears began to ring as he looked at the ground, blood dripping from his face. The wooden floor made memories relapse from before everything changed. In the distance, he could hear Alison screaming at them both to stop. Dwight felt a weight in his coat, and reached for it, realizing the pocket watch was still in it. In that instant, Dwight didn’t feel like the helpless old man he was just one day before. Instead, he felt power, he felt a sense of strength he hadn’t felt in over twenty years. Alison was gone. She wouldn’t accept Dwight for who he was anymore. If that was the case, there was nothing to lose, he thought.

He looked at the watch one more time, and slowly got back to his feet. He glared at the man who stole his wife and walked over to him. Dwight grabbed him by the neck and stared him dead in the eye while holding the pocket watch in his pocket, his index finger rubbing the watch in a clockwise motion. All he felt in

the moment was anger, and he stared in Shaun’s eyes as Shaun slowly started to get older and older by the second. Shaun looked at Dwight in complete confusion and disarray of what was happening. Wrinkles started to appear on his face, and his body began to shrivel and shrink as he begun to age years and years in just a matter of seconds. He aged and aged until he became an old shriveled man, and eventually nothing but dust in Dwight’s hands. Finally, Dwight let go, and felt the dust of what used to be Shaun in his hands, and he rubbed it over and over in slight disbelief of what he had done. As he rubbed the residue of what was once a human being in his hand, he felt a sense of power he never felt before. He started to smile, thinking about just how powerful the Eye of Cronus was… how powerful he was with it in his possession. Something came over him in that moment, and just for a second, he felt a bit of regret, but that seemed to leave just as quickly as it came. As he continued to feel what was left of Shaun, his eyes trailed over to the pile of dust. What could I do, he thought to himself? For a moment, he didn’t hear anything, and he felt as though he couldn’t speak. Seconds later, he snapped out of it, and noticed Alison screaming in horror.

“WHAT DID YOU DO,” she screamed. “Shaun?! SHAUN?!”

Dwight got up from his knees and slowly walked over to her. She backed away from him into a corner and fell to the ground, crying. He reached out his hand, but she repeatedly tried to push him away. He stared at her with a completely blank expression, eventually placing his hand on her cheek as she breathed rapidly, hyperventilating. Tears fell down her face as he stared at her, and he looked up at him, terrified.

Dwight looked her in her eyes once more, and whispered to her, “I’m sorry. I have to let you go, my love. The time will come when we will meet again... maybe in the future, or the past.” He wasn’t sure what he would do now that his actions finally took motion. That feeling of power overtook him completely, giving him a sense of gratification and an urge to strive for some sort of high only the most influential people in this lifetime can feel.

He rubbed his index finger over the surface pocket watch in a clockwise motion again, but as he watched her age, he stopped. Something came over Dwight. Was it mercy? No. Some sort of pressure in his heart made him feel reluctance from allowing himself to kill her. She wasn’t Shaun, he thought to himself. She just wanted to be happy. In an effort to try to find some sense of humanity left in himself, he paused. He rubbed his finger once again, but this time, in a counterclockwise motion. He stared as she slowly reversed in age in his hands. She slowly turned from forty-two years old to twenty, then to a teenager, then to a child, and eventually, into a newborn. He stayed knelt down in front of her and stared at her for hours.

Hours later, Dwight wrapped her in a blanket, and walked out of the house in the London nightfall. In a blank-minded trance, he walked for miles and miles until he was in a completely different, random neighborhood. His arms were shaky, and the nerves of what had happened made him keep walking. The streetlights were rather faint, and the housing district was completely empty of anyone. He checked his pocket watch, it was 11:30 p.m. again. Finally, he came to a house, one that was beautifully decorated outside, and seemed fairly wealthy. The hedges were trimmed in shapes of animals, and a tree in the yard slowly started to let go of its red, yellow, and brown leaves. Dwight couldn’t bring himself to let her suffer, not in another lifetime. If he wasn’t enough for her, maybe he will be in the future. Maybe he won’t. Nevertheless, if she was going to live, she was going to live happily, not impoverished. He approached the doorstep and placed newborn Alison on the ground in her blanket. He then knocked on the door and walked away.

Dwight walked on, saying goodbye to Alison, and the last of his humanity, forever. He stared at his pocket watch, thinking about the possibilities both ahead and behind him.

109