(Sunday’s Shorts) (A supplement to my blog) 

The Clock People  

In a world beyond our imaginations lived a clockmaker that toiled endlessly to get those perfect chimes in every tune. The small clock shop the clockmaker worked in glowed every night near the Manhattan Bridge from a long time ago. A passerby could peer in and see the clockmaker passionately making the most exquisite clocks the eye could see. The shop was simple, with shelves and shelves of ornate and plain clocks. The dark, rich wood walls, charming clocks, and floors were inviting.   

                          

When customers walked in, they could pick from many different clocks according to their style. The clockmaker was in the middle of all the clocks with a monocle on his right eye. He always dressed in a smart suit with gold cufflinks. His raven black hair and pale face were well-groomed, shoes were always polished and shined. People felt comfortable in his presence and could tell he loved his craft.  

The little clock people lived beyond the world that the normal eye can see. The little clock people lived in a world of ticks, tocks, and chimes—all living a life orchestrated by the passages of time, only seen by those special people. The people with whom had the talent to make clocks; thus, the clockmaker’s story began near the Manhattan Bridge. The year was 1925, a period of extravagance and economic growth in the United States. The Roaring Twenties was a great time to be alive!   

The Clock-makers Story  

The clockmaker worked tirelessly every night, as he wanted to make every customer happy. A frail old lady came into his shop with an antique clock one day. The clockmaker guessed that it was from the early 1800s and seemed to be an original done by an amateur. The hands were no longer working, and the old lady paid a nice fee to get this fixed, as this had been in her family for generations.  

Wilbur Morris, the clockmaker, always watched his dad fix clocks as a hobby. He was fascinated by his dad’s precision, passion, and happiness in fixing clocks and making them. In 1910, at the age of 18, Wilbur opened up his very own clock shop with the help of his dad. The shop was called “In the Knick of Time.”   

       Wilbur accepted the task of fixing the old lady’s clock; little did he know this clock was magical. For you see, inside the clock was a world of little people, the little clock people.  

Inside the antique clock, the clock people lived on the edges of the ticks, tocks, and chimes, a world different from our own. Wilbur could not make out their voices, but he could make out the faintest squeaks. He could observe their daily lives from above; feeling like an intruder, he watched as if a magnet was pulling him into the clock. They were fascinating to watch; he could only imagine what these tiny people said.   

Everything Slowly Freezing  

At about five years of age, one girl strolled with a big colorful swirled lollipop; with every lick, she had to use all of her strength. The lollipop’s colors were slowly melting into each other as the little girl continued the licks, not to lose that sweet taste. Her movements became more purposeful as tears formed in her blue eyes. Wilbur hoped the lollipop was worth all of that extra effort. Then the girl’s mother held her hand as they crossed the cobblestone street towards an apartment complex. Things became more warped as time passed while Wilbur continued to watch. Wilbur could not believe he was witnessing a world inside this antique clock; he never knew such a concept could exist. He wondered if all clocks had worlds in them.   

The people inside the clock moved at slow paces, sluggishly walking towards their daily tasks with low energy. Their warped appearances started to freeze in time.   

Suddenly, a loud noise coming from the middle of the city awakened people’s slow movements. The mayor held a microphone as people looked up, and Wilbur could not make out the words. Wilbur imagined the mayor saying, “blah, blah, blah,” as the people’s faces appeared bored. Adjusting his monacle he noticed the mayor had a name tag on “Mayor Flumberghast.” What a peculiar name, Wilbur thought.  

Wilbur knew that the task of fixing the clock was something the clock-people needed to resume their lives. In one corner of a dark alley inside the clock, was a group of people frozen with shock on their tiny, sullen faces. Wilbur thought this must have happened when the clock stopped working; he knew these people needed a savior, a task he would pursue with the utmost courage. These people depended on him to bring back time.   

Chime City  

The world inside the clock was much like New York City, with alleys and several buildings filling the city. Skyscrapers that reached the odd clouds shaped like clock hands and numbers; this was the face of the clock. The bright gold river surrounding the city rippled and chimed like a grandfather clock. The streets were a bold white cobblestone with gold aligning the sides; all of the gold was an accent to the stunning city. Many outdoor shops selling fruits, vegetables, clothes, jewelry, sweets, paintings and more were abandoned. The city was sadly quiet, except for the chimes of the river and the eerie sounds of Mayor Flumberghast.  

   

  

Wilbur decided to name this world Chime City, which had a ring to it. Above the city was a huge maple tree that stood at what appeared to be 200-feet high. On the cascading orange and red leaves were strings of Edison lights that stopped shining. These lights seemed to be the clock people’s sun, and each bulb had a black substance in them. The bulbs burned out somehow, a mystery Wilbur would resolve.  

Throughout the night and into the next morning, Wilbur replaced the wheels as these were so strained to the point of almost breaking. The face and dials were so worn down, that Wilbur had to toss these and replace them with the finest he could find. Several hours later, the clock needed to be tested, he hoped all his efforts paid off.   

Has he Fixed the Clock?  

Alas! Rejoice! The clock was in order again, and the clock people walked at an average pace again. The workers of time were able to keep the hands moving, the wheels turning, and the chimes ringing again!   

Or so that is how it stayed for three days until Wilbur woke up in a jail cell inside Chime City. He awoke with fear in his heart as his body had shrunk to the size of the clock people. The wheels of the clock were hurled out with a powerful force. All of his worked destroyed within minutes. What was happening to him? The mayor was holding onto the metal bars outside the cell, laughing evilly. Wilbur passed out after the ghostly site of the evil mayor.  

The end of part 1. Next Sunday, part 2 will appear and be from the perspective of the clock people! Please read part 2 next week, and do not forget to subscribe! Thank you for the support.   

None of the images are mine; they are from Google. I do not own the rights to these images.