The boy rushed, shoving people aside, cutting through the crowd. It was Sunday and he intended to invest every possible moment of holiday adoring those mystery machines.
Finally, he reached his destination. Sat between two buildings, at opposite side of the square, was a small shop. Glasses of its two large display-windows shone, reflecting morning light.
The boy, containing his excitement, slowed his pace. Eyes wide, mouth agape, he pressed his face against the glass, watching the numerous clocks, each a masterpiece of craftsmanship, placed for display in rows. The boy breathed out slowly, fogging the glass. He placed a hand on his chest, then strained his ears to catch those muffled tickings. Everytime it surprised him, he failed to distinguish tickings of every clock. They all ticked in harmony as if they were just one clock. He controlled his breathing, slowing his heartbeat to match the ticking. He smiled as all clocks ticked and his heat thumped at the same moment.
The door of the shop burst open. A bald head with white hairs on sides popped out. "You again!"
Caught by surprise, the coordination between beats and ticks frenzied. The boy dashed in opposite way, leaving a smudge on the glass. He wished he wouldn't have stolen that clock from the shop a few weeks ago
Chapter #2
The boy sat on a stone bench at opposite side of the square. The moving sea of people perfectly hiding him from angry-eyes of the clockmaker. He sighed, fishing his pocket. Tips of his fingers touched something metallic, reassuring him its presence.
One chance.
That's what all he needed.
But everytime he tried to approach the shop, guilt and fear had made him flee. Gathering all his might, the boy again made his way across the square. He knocked on the door.
A moment later, the aged clockmaker face appeared, first curious, then noticing the boy, his smile bend to sneer. "You!" He grabbed the boy by the collar, pulling him close. "Next time I find you near my shop, I swear to all gears and coils, I won't be merciful." He released his grip.
"I...," the boy said, pulling out something from his pocket. "I am here to give back your clock."
Surprised, the clockmaker took and inspected it. It was a tiny round device, outer rim made from polished copper with the white colored dial. Thin black hands moved seamlessly as time passed. He looked at the boy, only to find him running away and disappearing in the crowd.
Confused, the clockmaker entered in his shop and placed the clock in its vacant place. When the sun reached the peak of the heaven, and two hands of the clock blended into one at twelve, the aged man noticed one change in his clock.
And witnessed a miracle unfolding before his eyes.
Chapter #3
"How did you do that?" the clockmaker asked. Finding the boy took most of his time, but by end of the day, he found the boy tossing pebbles at the river bank.
"I...," the boy stammered. "I don't know."
Curious, the clockmaker thought. "Where do you live?"
"I...I don't know."
That was baffling. The clockmaker watched the boy scanning the scattered pebbles, then picking one. He weighed it on his hand. Satisfied, he threw the pebble against the flow of current. The smooth stone surfed the surface, leaving a thin of disturbed water in its trail. Then vanished into the river's depths.
The clockmaker was impressed. "You like clocks, don't you?"
The boy picked another pebble. "There is beauty in clocks. Even when they stop working. We forget the existence of time in those moments of ignorance, not worrying about getting late or accomplishing a work before the deadline. During those moments, we truly live our presence."
The clockmaker regarded his words. "What do you want?"
"I need your help to fix something."
"Wait," the clockmaker asked. "You modified my clock, made a miracle out of gears and cogs. Why would you need my help?"
"Because I can't fix it myself."
"And what's that?"
The boy hesitated for a moment, then started unbuttoning his shirt.
The clockmaker's eyes widened as he noticed a device made up of small gears and tubes working on the boy's chest. A mechanical heart.
Chapter #4
"We have lost the boy," said the man.
"And the book?" A voice came from shadows. Deep and commanding.
"There was no one in the house. Asked around. The boy left the city after Samson's..."
"Enough!"
The man flinched.
"I want that boy alive and the book. Make sure next time you visit me you have either of them or else..."
Scared, the man glanced at the side of the room. In vast transparent tubes filled with some unknown liquid to him were his partners. All dead.
Chapter #5
The clockmaker hesitated for a moment then unscrewed tiny bolts at the edges of the thin transparent plate, placing it on the table, then wearing his spectacles he started inspecting the delicate gear-works of tubes and cogs. "This is beautiful."
"Yes," the boy said. "My heart is beautiful."
The clockmaker looked up. "Those tubes are circulating the blood perfectly, so what do you want me to fix?"
The boy pulled out a small pouch from the pocket and handed it over to the old man.
Unraveling the knots, the clockmaker pulled out a small sphere from the pouch. His eyes, blinded at the brightness of its glow. "What is it?"
"I don't know much. The book says it's a lifestone."
"A what?"
The boy shrugged. "All you need is to replace it in the fifth chamber of my heart without disturbing anything."
The clockmaker, using the marvelous light of the ball, started looking for the fifth chamber. He paused several times, studying the mechanism, smiling - like a scholar admiring a masterpiece. After a while he finally found the fifth chamber. It was a tiny pocket. And set in it was another sphere. But this one was dimly lit.
"Be careful," the boy said. "I'll hold my breath. You'll have few moments to replace it."
The clockmaker nodded.
The boy held his breath, the working of the gears slowed. With a thin metallic shaft, the old man pulled out the settled sphere and replaced it with a glowing one. The boy released his breath, and the working resumed with a miraculous speed as if a new energy had been injected into it. The whole machine hummed rhythmically.
The clockmaker noticed the change in the boy's skin tone.
"Thank you," the boy said.
The clockmaker silently fixed the transparent plate and stood up. Muffled by the plate, the hum of the machine sounded thumps. Just like a real heart. The glow of the sphere disappeared as the boy buttoned up his shirt.
"Who are you?"
The boy pondered as if finding his name in the memory was a difficult task. Then he spoke. "I'm Samson's invention."
Chapter #6
The Maker was popular as the king himself in the kingdom. Bards used to sing about the timepieces he had devised. Some say the king secretly used to meet The Maker to see his finest works and used to buy the best of the clocks for his palace. While some say, The Maker never revealed his new workings to anyone. Not even to the king.
On every Sunday morning, people used to gather in the front of the square, waiting for The Maker to put his new clock on display. His each work was a piece of art.
The Maker was aging and he wished to pass his inheritance of knowledge. He picked his son and an apprentice - Samson and the clockmaker.
Chapter #7
The clockmaker took his time to process the name. Samson. "You mean...But how could it be? It's been twenty years."
The boy looked at the aged man, struggling to remember anything. "I'm sorry. I found about you in this book."
"What book?"
"The book he told me to give you."
The clockmaker waited, but the boy didn't add any further words. Finally, he said. "You can give it to me."
Confusion washed over the boy's face. "I'm sorry. I hid it somewhere."
"Then we can get it from that place."
"There is a problem."
"And what's that?"
The boy scratched his head. "I can't remember where I hid it."
Chapter #8
The man was desperate. He needed to find the boy. He roamed barn to barn, village to village, asking for the boy. He knew his time was depleting. Soon the power of the lifestone within his mechanical heart would run out and he would be dead. The Master would turn him into one of his prized possession. He had witnessed the gruesome process. He shivered.
"How does the boy look?" said the old lady at the crossroad.
"Around twelve years old. Black hair, skinny body," the man described.
"Mister, that's a very vague description," the lady said. "Say something that makes him peculiar to remember."
"Mmm...He seems lost."
"Ah," the lady said. "There was one I can remember. But the memory seems foggy. Maybe few clinks of coins can help me."
Sighing, the man put few coins on the lady's palm.
"He was here, a few weeks ago, asking the clockmaker."
Interesting, the man thought. "And where is this clockmaker?"
"Oh, it's been a long time I had visited his shop," the lady said. "Was it the capital city or the village nearby, I can't say."
The man thrust more coins to her.
"Yes, that square, those towering buildings, it was the capital city!"
Chapter #9
The clockmaker looked at the patch of the night sky. "What happened to you, my friend?"
He recalled all those years of training and growing up with Samson. The Maker, their teacher, was very strict with rules. His philosophy about creativity was about taming it with a set of rules. Samson didn't feel the same. He believed creativity have no rules. There was always a spark of debate between The Maker and his son. Secretly, the clockmaker was impressed with Samson's ideas. They were different. Few very scary, but the rest were amazingly fantastic.
"I'm sorry." The boy came and stood beside him. "I thought I could fix myself. That book contained all those instructions. So I stole the clock to study its working."
The clockmaker regarded the reason. "But you made a modification. The clock works without a ticking sound. How did you do that?"
"I followed the book."
They silently both looked at the stars. Then the clockmaker remembered something. He fished out the lifestone from his pocket. It was faintly glowing, like a piece of the early moon. "What is it?"
"A lifestone. That's all I can say."
The clockmaker nodded. "How is Samson?"
The boy didn't reply.
"You knew him, right? He made your heart."
The boy shook his head in frustration. "It's all in pieces, my memories. I can't remember them all."
"Wait," the clockmaker turned, his eyes narrowing. "You remember something."
The boy nodded.
"What is it?"
The boy shut his eyes, trying to search something that could make sense to him. "I don't understand this. Samson was upon me, working on my chest. Then there was fire. Next thing I remember I was at the crossroad with a book and a note."
"What note?"
The boy opened his eyes, realizing the fact. "The note had instruction to contact you and..."
The clockmaker waited. "And?"
The boy pulled out his one of the leather shoes. Putting his fingers into it, he took out a folded note. "And where to hide the book."
Chapter #10
"I don't see a boy or the book?" a voice came from shadows.
"Master," the man said, bowing. "My lifestone is running low. I know the boy's location. I need a new stone."
There was no response, only clicking of gears and snapping of wires. The man waited for the mercy. A bubbling sound made him check the side of the room. The mystery-liquid in those big tubes began to flush out. Once emptied, there was a jerk in the room and those big tubes began to sink into the ground, revealing the man's dead partners.
"Where is the boy?" The voice demanded.
"At the capital," the man said, hardly believing his eyes. "With the clockmaker."
A moment of silence passed.
And then the dead opened their eyes.
To be continued...
Chapter #6
The Maker was popular as the king himself in the kingdom. Bards used to sing about the timepieces he had devised. Some say the king secretly used to meet The Maker to see his finest works and used to buy the best of the clocks for his palace. While some say, The Maker never revealed his new workings to anyone. Not even to the king.
On every Sunday morning, people used to gather in the front of the square, waiting for The Maker to put his new clock on display. His each work was a piece of art.
The Maker was aging and he wished to pass his inheritance of knowledge. He picked his son and an apprentice - Samson and the clockmaker.
Chapter #7
The clockmaker took his time to process the name. Samson. "You mean...But how could it be? It's been twenty years."
The boy looked at the aged man, struggling to remember anything. "I'm sorry. I found about you in this book."
"What book?"
"The book he told me to give you."
The clockmaker waited, but the boy didn't add any further words. Finally, he said. "You can give it to me."
Confusion washed over the boy's face. "I'm sorry. I hid it somewhere."
"Then we can get it from that place."
"There is a problem."
"And what's that?"
The boy scratched his head. "I can't remember where I hid it."
Chapter #8
The man was desperate. He needed to find the boy. He roamed barn to barn, village to village, asking for the boy. He knew his time was depleting. Soon the power of the lifestone within his mechanical heart would run out and he would be dead. The Master would turn him into one of his prized possession. He had witnessed the gruesome process. He shivered.
"How does the boy look?" said the old lady at the crossroad.
"Around twelve years old. Black hair, skinny body," the man described.
"Mister, that's a very vague description," the lady said. "Say something that makes him peculiar to remember."
"Mmm...He seems lost."
"Ah," the lady said. "There was one I can remember. But the memory seems foggy. Maybe few clinks of coins can help me."
Sighing, the man put few coins on the lady's palm.
"He was here, a few weeks ago, asking the clockmaker."
Interesting, the man thought. "And where is this clockmaker?"
"Oh, it's been a long time I had visited his shop," the lady said. "Was it the capital city or the village nearby, I can't say."
The man thrust more coins to her.
"Yes, that square, those towering buildings, it was the capital city!"
Chapter #9
The clockmaker looked at the patch of the night sky. "What happened to you, my friend?"
He recalled all those years of training and growing up with Samson. The Maker, their teacher, was very strict with rules. His philosophy about creativity was about taming it with a set of rules. Samson didn't feel the same. He believed creativity have no rules. There was always a spark of debate between The Maker and his son. Secretly, the clockmaker was impressed with Samson's ideas. They were different. Few very scary, but the rest were amazingly fantastic.
"I'm sorry." The boy came and stood beside him. "I thought I could fix myself. That book contained all those instructions. So I stole the clock to study its working."
The clockmaker regarded the reason. "But you made a modification. The clock works without a ticking sound. How did you do that?"
"I followed the book."
They silently both looked at the stars. Then the clockmaker remembered something. He fished out the lifestone from his pocket. It was faintly glowing, like a piece of the early moon. "What is it?"
"A lifestone. That's all I can say."
The clockmaker nodded. "How is Samson?"
The boy didn't reply.
"You knew him, right? He made your heart."
The boy shook his head in frustration. "It's all in pieces, my memories. I can't remember them all."
"Wait," the clockmaker turned, his eyes narrowing. "You remember something."
The boy nodded.
"What is it?"
The boy shut his eyes, trying to search something that could make sense to him. "I don't understand this. Samson was upon me, working on my chest. Then there was fire. Next thing I remember I was at the crossroad with a book and a note."
"What note?"
The boy opened his eyes, realizing the fact. "The note had instruction to contact you and..."
The clockmaker waited. "And?"
The boy pulled out his one of the leather shoes. Putting his fingers into it, he took out a folded note. "And where to hide the book."
Chapter #10
"I don't see a boy or the book?" a voice came from shadows.
"Master," the man said, bowing. "My lifestone is running low. I know the boy's location. I need a new stone."
There was no response, only clicking of gears and snapping of wires. The man waited for the mercy. A bubbling sound made him check the side of the room. The mystery-liquid in those big tubes began to flush out. Once emptied, there was a jerk in the room and those big tubes began to sink into the ground, revealing the man's dead partners.
"Where is the boy?" The voice demanded.
"At the capital," the man said, hardly believing his eyes. "With the clockmaker."
A moment of silence passed.
And then the dead opened their eyes.
To be continued...
Every part keep some suspence... All good! Catchy ".. creativity have no rules.
ReplyDeleteThank You, Sir for taking out your time and reading it. This means a lot to me. :)
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