*** This short story is a Repost - Since there are many new Subscribers and followers (a heartfelt Thanks to all of you) I wanted to repost an original short story I wrote. This was first posted last September 1st, 2024, one of my first public posts.
***An idea came to me and I wrote this freely and quickly in one sitting. It remains now as it came to me then - raw and unchanged. Imagine this for yourself.
Imagine, if you will, a hospital room on the maternity ward. A woman has just given birth. A lovely baby girl. Pink skin, evidence of dark hair, tiny fingers, tightly shut eyes. She is placed on the mothers chest, wrapped in a white warm blanket. The new mother smiles, relieved and thankful and feeling blessed. The miracle of birth. The miracle of Life.
Imagine, if you will, at the very same moment of the birth, another birth. A specter. This phantom comes into being simultaneously with the baby girl. The specter breathes deep the new fresh air into his being. He is from an unknown place, an unknown time. He has no features, nothing distinguishable. He is not form or substance yet he is substantial. He is way off in the distance. Too far for anyone to see. Yet he is there. He begins to walk. He walks slowly, very slowly, in the direction of the new baby girl. They are connected by a barely visible silver thread. It stretches from the specter to the baby girl, through time. They are intricately bound. He is her beginning and he is her end.
The baby girl leaves the hospital and goes to a home. She is cared for and she is loved. She grows and she learns. Twenty years have gone by. She meets a man and falls in love.
The phantom, her phantom, has continued his slow walk in her direction. He has a more defined form now as he approaches. Yes, of course, he is wearing a long black hooded cloak. His face, if he has one, is still obscured. No hands are visible from the sleeve ends. A red rope belt is loosely tied around the middle of the cloak. From that red belt hangs a bright, perfectly polished silver pocket watch. It is oversized and the watch face is clearly visible. It is a white face with black minute and hour hands. What is noticeable, immediately, is the bright red second hand. The tick - stop, tick - stop, tick - stop is jarring. One can barely, if one listens very close, hear the slight tick - stop of the red second hand.
The girl, now a woman and a mother with children of her own, continues to learn and live. She raises her children and she provides for their needs. They are now grown and move into their own homes. The woman turns forty-five years old. One night she has a dream, a peaceful nightmare she called it the next day. She dreamed of a black phantom with a red rope belt and a silver pocket watch walking toward her. She might have seen a face in the hooded cloak. She awoke in a sweat. For the first time in her forty-five years, she considered death.
The specter, whose only purpose was to walk, slowly walk, toward the woman, continued to do just that. One still noticed the pocket watch with the red second hand, tick - stop. But now, one could notice the black minute and hour hands more distinctly. It appeared, upon closer observation, they were heading to a final destination. One could feel, sense, that they would end up meeting each other, laying one over the other, at the midnight position. An overwhelming sense that the three hands on the watch would, eventually, meet at the top. Additionally, one now knew, without a doubt, that when that event happened, it signaled the end. The end of something. Or someone.
The woman now held a grandchild in her arms. She surveyed her lovely living room filled with beautiful objects collected over a lifetime. On a bookshelf were several framed photos of her family over the years of her life. She looked across the room at her husband of fifty years, sitting in his favorite chair, having trouble breathing. The cancer eating him from the inside. She turned in the other direction to observe her eldest daughter whose baby she held. Her daughter, so full of life and hope. The woman wondered at the difference between her dying husband and her not dying daughter. Again, she thought of death, knowing it was close, and a funeral on the horizon was near.
It arrived sooner than expected, the funeral. Don’t they all. People cried, nice things were said. A black box was lowered into a rectangular hole in the ground. She returned to her home, alone. She was able to free her emotions and cried for her husband and cried for herself. She considered the specter, her specter. She had thought of him several times over the last few years. Now that she had experienced death, she knew hers was close. At least closer than she ever felt before.
The phantom was more defined now. Hands extended from the black cloak sleeves. They held a light red square pillow. A face was noticeable in the hood. Features could be seen. Cheekbones and eyes. The eyes were not scary but the eyes were kind. They were soft and understanding. The pocket watch, shining silver in the light of day, showed it was near its end. It’s time almost finished. The hour hand stood on the twelve. The minute hand close behind. The red second hand, tick - stop, tick - stop, continued it’s relentless journey.
The woman, now laying in her hospital bed where her journey began, was surrounded by family. She saw the tears in their eyes. She also saw her specter. She saw him clearly standing against the wall in the hospital room. He had stopped his walk, his long determined walk, for only a moment. She looked into his eyes and was not afraid. She saw kindness and warmth.
The phantom nodded to her across the room. It was time. He walked forward. He stretched out his hand holding the light red square pillow. As he did so, on the silver pocket watch, all three hands, the hour hand, the minute hand and the red second hand ticked together at midnight and stopped.
The woman glanced at her family one last time. She felt peace. She looked at her specter, her phantom. She saw the pillow. Then she looked at the pocket watch. She saw the red second hand perform it’s last few tick - stop, tick - stop, and then finally stop on midnight. All became silent. Her phantom placed the pillow under her head.
He spoke: “I came into being when you were born. Since that moment I began my slow walk toward you, toward this day, this moment, your death. Fear not. You will rest in peace.”
The woman closed her eyes, put her head on the soft pillow, and went to eternal peaceful rest.
If you enjoyed it... you can buy me a coffee
Thanks for taking a moment of your day to read my little short story. It is appreciated.
We all have a clock, it continues to Tick - someday it will stop.
Until then, and until next time, take care of yourself.
I enjoyed it as much this time as I did back in September!!🥰