The Final Clock

Far away, back in the tower, a young woman had just entered through the doorway. The old man sat at a large oak table, directly opposite the door. She greeted him as she took her coat off. “How was your trip?” he asked. She replied, “Good. You look troubled. Is something wrong?” “Sit down.” He motioned for her to sit down. She took a seat. He removed his glasses and looked at her, his gaze fiery. She gasped, for one of his eyes was completely normal, a vivid green. The other wasn’t an eye at all. It was a miniature clock, yellowed with age. “What I am about to tell you must never go beyond these walls. Understand?” She nodded once.


“A long time ago, I fought in a great war. It ranged from the freezing north to the balmy south. Millions of people died in that war. I was one of the lucky ones. I just lost this eye.” He tapped the clock-eye. “After the war was over, I traveled up here and built this tower. Here I made my fortune as a clock-maker. But before I built my first true clock, even this one, where my lost eye should be, I built a great golden clock, unlike any other in the world. It does not tell the time, but tells the remaining time left to this world. On either size there is a giant hourglass. The hourglass on the left contains the Sands of Time, where one grain of sand falls every ten years. The hourglass on the right is called the Sands of the Dead, and one grain of that sand falls every time someone dies. And there isn’t much time left till the clock reaches midnight. But that can be prevented. If someone stops the end of the world, the clock will reset, and so will the two hourglasses.”