Time Isn’t Relative

I’m Starting to See Now | Simone Kulinski | Drawing

Time Isn’t Relative by Adam Deutsch

People say that time is relative. I never quite knew what that meant, but I know my clock isn't. 

I only have one clock in my house. It has no family, no relatives to say hi to. Its long arms reach for the numbers but can never quite touch them. It simply sits there knowing that its old gears will rust up. It knows it is only a matter of time.

The clock’s heart begins to die. Its red hands slow down. But it knows that with the turn of a gear its breath will become steady. And, as if nothing happened, it simply keeps on going. The relentless force of time pushing it to the brink of exhaustion, every rusty breath agonizing.

It doesn’t matter that I live alone. I have my clock. It’s the mother I never knew. It wakes me up every morning with the gentle touch of a hand. It tells me when to go to work and when to eat. But even though time is consuming, it never eats. And when it is time for bed, it never sleeps. Its metal heart keeps pumping blood throughout the night, so the tick, tick, tick of time never dies. 

No one can truly appreciate time. Sometimes it can spread its wings and fly; yet it is mostly trapped, like a man in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. It remains stuck behind the glass. Its rusty metal heart always beating; counting the seconds until it can spread its wings and fly again. And yet, everyday, when I come home the clock remains on the wall above the dining room table, its tireless work continues. And its impatient tick drones on, waiting for night to come, when it can free itself from the glass shackles of time.