Deadline (Book of Hours Pt. II)
At the age of fourteen Gerald came across the watch his grandfather had bestowed upon him while rummaging through a drawer. It was no longer locked at twelve it was now set at half past one, and as he tried to think of a logical explanation the second hand ticked; a few hours later it ticked again. He collapsed at the thought of the tragedy waiting for him when it would finally strike three. He prematurely went through the stages of grief as the dial was traversed incrementally farther each week, until he watched the final seconds tick down at 5:15 in the morning, over 40 hours since he had woken up on Friday. An hour later the hand moved past three and he went into a fit of laughter. He spent countless hours fretting, had suffered swings of anxiety and depression over what was obviously just a malfunctioning time piece. After much needed rest he had the chronometer framed and hung on the wall above his computer desk – a reminder not to stress over that which we cannot control, because it may just be a figment of our imagination. Or so he believed, until the phone call he received a week later.
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