Dating : The Clock

Nathan glanced at the clock. It stared back at him with hatred. Three hours had vanished both with an equal amount of difficulty and frustration. Each passing minute the clock stole from him became more painful, and more apparent than the last.

The quietness of the room was snatched away by Nathan’s defeated sigh, promptly followed by the thud of a manuscript pad hitting the wall beneath the treacherous circular object that hung with feigned innocence, teasing Nathan as it sat with arrogance, hugging the house with certainty and support.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Nathan shouted, “You know what you’re doing!”

The clock did not respond.

With a deep breath, Nathan closed his eyes in an effort to calm himself. It’s okay, his thoughts reassured him it’s only music.

He raised his hands, as he had done thousands of times, resting his fingers with confidence on the keys. A chord sounded followed by a second, and then a third, a fourth, and seconds later music filled the room. A melody the world had never heard began to break through the chords, and for a moment, Nathan felt accomplishment.

Minutes passed. The tempo moved beyond the monotonous ticking of his adversary, and time stood still for a moment as Nathan created. A smile began to form, and his eyes shone while he played the piece that humanity would never hear again, effortlessly painting the world, for a moment, with colour.

Nathan’s sadness faded, and with reluctance, he felt joy. His soul filled with happiness, and with a quick glance up from his playing, his joy was crushed, throwing him back into darkness, accompanied with the loud bang of piano keys as he hit them with rage.

“Generic, overused chord progressions!” he screamed at the clock. “Why am I so untalented that I cannot create something fresh!?”

The clock did not flinch, instead it smiled at him. Its hands pointing upwards, reminding Nathan of the responsibilities that came with the rising of tomorrow’s sun.

He swore. His heart sank deep, knowing that tomorrow would bring with it not even a glimmer of satisfaction that the last few minutes of today had brought. The responsibilities of life would take hold and his choices would once again be robbed from him, and would continue to be stolen so for the foreseeable future.

He sat in silence for a moment, concentrating only on his breathing, calming himself.

He closed the lid of the piano, wearing the weight of sadness on his shoulders, before standing and collecting his empty manuscript pad from the floor.

He took one final, and defeated glance at his foe before retreating to his bedroom. His optimism grasped carelessly in his hand as he dragged his feet with reluctance into the room, closing the door gently behind him.