Status: short story
Time and the Man
Time and the Man
“Time crept into the core of the man and rusted him from the inside out.”
Chime…chime…chime…
Tick…Tick…Tick………
He shuffled over to where an old grand father clock stood against the wall. Its wood was beginning to crack and the face was faded from time. The chimes stood out in stark relief to the damaged wood. Next to it was a wall clock keeping time with a set of hands on its face. It was a simple black and white clock with roman numerals. He stared at them. The look on his face was one of sadness and something else. He shook his head and shuffled out of the room. The man stood upright but refused to pick up his feet. They moved in a sliding motion across the dirty, brown carpet. The walls he shuffled past were white and blank. Most of the windows were covered by dusty curtains. The ones that weren’t covered let in little sunlight due to a heavy layer of grime. He shuffled past a small kitchen, a dusty guest bedroom, and a sitting room containing one green arm chair and a television.
He shuffled up a set of creaky stairs. The man moved past more bland walls and empty rooms. At the end of the hall he turned into the room on the right. It was sparsely furnished with a bed, dresser, lamp, and a rusty folding chair. He pulled at the belt holding on his bathrobe and placed the robe on the bed. He slid off his slippers and padded over to the dresser. He pulled open the top drawer and pulled out khaki shorts and a brown shirt. He padded over to the chair, sat and put on the pants. It groaned in protest, begging to be fixed. He pulled the shirt over his head. With a sigh the man leaned back. He eyes closed momentarily. Among the seconds that passed, snores started to crawl out of his open mouth and drift around the room. Five minutes later the man woke with a start. He stood up and padded over to the closet located next to the dresser. He reached inside and came out with a pair of brow slide-on shoes. He set them on the floor and slipped them on. He shuffled out of the room, down the hallway and stairs, down the next hallway, and into the kitchen. As he entered, his eyelids began to droop. Like all the other rooms it was bland and a dirty white. He walked over to the pantry by the door and retrieved a box of Cheerios. He dumped them into a bowl he got from the cabinet above the sink. He walked over to the refrigerator and got the milk out. He shuffled over to the table in the middle of the room and sat down. He methodically and slowly ate his cereal like a cow eating grass. Like all the other days it took exactly fifteen minutes. He left the bowl on the table. On the counter were some keys and a wallet. He grabbed both as he shuffled out of the room. The man moved further down the hallway toward a door with peeling beige paint. He opened it and squinted into the bright light. A car sat in the driveway. The man shuffled over to it, climbed in and drove away.
* * *
He parked the car in the busy grocery store parking lot. He went into the store and grabbed a cart. Shuffling behind it he went through his Tuesday routine. He shuffled to his usual check out counter. The lady that was normally there smiled at him. He didn’t know her name.
As she was scanning his groceries she said to him, “You won’t believe what my daughter did yesterday.” There was an undercurrent of anger.
He looked at her blankly with his squinty eyes and returned his gaze to his shoes. The woman sighed and continued speaking, “My daughter got drunk and went into a rampage and destroyed her house. Almost everything she owned really.”
The man looked up again; the blank expression still dominated his face. In a monotone voice he said, “What’s wrong with that? Why are you angry? I don’t understand.”
He looked down, uncomfortable that his routine had changed ever so slightly. He didn’t look back up until the woman said, “Your total is twenty dollars.”
He slid the customary twenty across the little counter. She placed it in the register and then walked out from behind the counter and loaded the bags into the cart. He shuffled while she pushed the cart to his car. He sat in the front seat as she loaded the groceries into the trunk. When she finished she found him snoring. Not unusual for a Tuesday. She took the cart and walked away.
* * *
A car accident. Another interruption to his wonderful routine. He sighed and his eyes fell to the floor of the car. Soon police arrived and directed the waiting cars down a side street. The man’s car included. The road was winding and went through an older part of town that he had never seen before. He was beginning to get angry because his precious schedule was being disrupted.
When he finally got home, two hours behind schedule, he placed the groceries into their customary places. He would have to skip lunch today because he was behind schedule. He shuffled out of the room, sad he wouldn’t get to eat his chicken soup. The man went into the sitting room. On the table next to his chair was a remote. He sat down, picked it up, and turned on the TV. It showed the local educational channel. He sat quietly and watched his shows.
Eventually his head lolled backwards and his eyes closed. Snores along with the dialogue from the TV filled the room. At exactly ten o’clock he woke up and shuffled up to his bedroom.
* * *
He woke up as he did every morning. He climbed out of bed and shuffled downstairs to stare at the clocks. That was when he noticed that the walls had become brightly colored, and, not only that, there was furniture in the room that was bare before.
The man began to panic. He glanced fearfully at the two clocks and hurried out of the room to find the kitchen clean and the windows open. Among those peculiarities there were two people sitting at his kitchen table. Eating his cereal. They turned and smiled at him.
“Good morning, Dad! Sleep well?” One of them asked.
The man, now full out panicking, ran out of the room. He ran at almost full speed toward the door that looked freshly painted. He opened it.
The world was……different. Everything. That wasn’t his car in the driveway, that wasn’t the same child that lived across the street. None of it was right. Down to the tiniest detail everything had changed.
He began to hyperventilate. All his worst fears were coming true. Everything changed, everything was changing. Tears of fear began to leak from his eyes. They were a peculiar orange color. Whatever the tears touched they made it rust. Very soon his face was rusted. Next his hands, then his feet. Now his legs, now his arms. Once all of his body became rusted he began to crumble into orange dust. All that was left was a pile of orange dust that slowly joined the wind.
Chime…chime…chime…
Tick…Tick…Tick………
He shuffled over to where an old grand father clock stood against the wall. Its wood was beginning to crack and the face was faded from time. The chimes stood out in stark relief to the damaged wood. Next to it was a wall clock keeping time with a set of hands on its face. It was a simple black and white clock with roman numerals. He stared at them. The look on his face was one of sadness and something else. He shook his head and shuffled out of the room. The man stood upright but refused to pick up his feet. They moved in a sliding motion across the dirty, brown carpet. The walls he shuffled past were white and blank. Most of the windows were covered by dusty curtains. The ones that weren’t covered let in little sunlight due to a heavy layer of grime. He shuffled past a small kitchen, a dusty guest bedroom, and a sitting room containing one green arm chair and a television.
He shuffled up a set of creaky stairs. The man moved past more bland walls and empty rooms. At the end of the hall he turned into the room on the right. It was sparsely furnished with a bed, dresser, lamp, and a rusty folding chair. He pulled at the belt holding on his bathrobe and placed the robe on the bed. He slid off his slippers and padded over to the dresser. He pulled open the top drawer and pulled out khaki shorts and a brown shirt. He padded over to the chair, sat and put on the pants. It groaned in protest, begging to be fixed. He pulled the shirt over his head. With a sigh the man leaned back. He eyes closed momentarily. Among the seconds that passed, snores started to crawl out of his open mouth and drift around the room. Five minutes later the man woke with a start. He stood up and padded over to the closet located next to the dresser. He reached inside and came out with a pair of brow slide-on shoes. He set them on the floor and slipped them on. He shuffled out of the room, down the hallway and stairs, down the next hallway, and into the kitchen. As he entered, his eyelids began to droop. Like all the other rooms it was bland and a dirty white. He walked over to the pantry by the door and retrieved a box of Cheerios. He dumped them into a bowl he got from the cabinet above the sink. He walked over to the refrigerator and got the milk out. He shuffled over to the table in the middle of the room and sat down. He methodically and slowly ate his cereal like a cow eating grass. Like all the other days it took exactly fifteen minutes. He left the bowl on the table. On the counter were some keys and a wallet. He grabbed both as he shuffled out of the room. The man moved further down the hallway toward a door with peeling beige paint. He opened it and squinted into the bright light. A car sat in the driveway. The man shuffled over to it, climbed in and drove away.
* * *
He parked the car in the busy grocery store parking lot. He went into the store and grabbed a cart. Shuffling behind it he went through his Tuesday routine. He shuffled to his usual check out counter. The lady that was normally there smiled at him. He didn’t know her name.
As she was scanning his groceries she said to him, “You won’t believe what my daughter did yesterday.” There was an undercurrent of anger.
He looked at her blankly with his squinty eyes and returned his gaze to his shoes. The woman sighed and continued speaking, “My daughter got drunk and went into a rampage and destroyed her house. Almost everything she owned really.”
The man looked up again; the blank expression still dominated his face. In a monotone voice he said, “What’s wrong with that? Why are you angry? I don’t understand.”
He looked down, uncomfortable that his routine had changed ever so slightly. He didn’t look back up until the woman said, “Your total is twenty dollars.”
He slid the customary twenty across the little counter. She placed it in the register and then walked out from behind the counter and loaded the bags into the cart. He shuffled while she pushed the cart to his car. He sat in the front seat as she loaded the groceries into the trunk. When she finished she found him snoring. Not unusual for a Tuesday. She took the cart and walked away.
* * *
A car accident. Another interruption to his wonderful routine. He sighed and his eyes fell to the floor of the car. Soon police arrived and directed the waiting cars down a side street. The man’s car included. The road was winding and went through an older part of town that he had never seen before. He was beginning to get angry because his precious schedule was being disrupted.
When he finally got home, two hours behind schedule, he placed the groceries into their customary places. He would have to skip lunch today because he was behind schedule. He shuffled out of the room, sad he wouldn’t get to eat his chicken soup. The man went into the sitting room. On the table next to his chair was a remote. He sat down, picked it up, and turned on the TV. It showed the local educational channel. He sat quietly and watched his shows.
Eventually his head lolled backwards and his eyes closed. Snores along with the dialogue from the TV filled the room. At exactly ten o’clock he woke up and shuffled up to his bedroom.
* * *
He woke up as he did every morning. He climbed out of bed and shuffled downstairs to stare at the clocks. That was when he noticed that the walls had become brightly colored, and, not only that, there was furniture in the room that was bare before.
The man began to panic. He glanced fearfully at the two clocks and hurried out of the room to find the kitchen clean and the windows open. Among those peculiarities there were two people sitting at his kitchen table. Eating his cereal. They turned and smiled at him.
“Good morning, Dad! Sleep well?” One of them asked.
The man, now full out panicking, ran out of the room. He ran at almost full speed toward the door that looked freshly painted. He opened it.
The world was……different. Everything. That wasn’t his car in the driveway, that wasn’t the same child that lived across the street. None of it was right. Down to the tiniest detail everything had changed.
He began to hyperventilate. All his worst fears were coming true. Everything changed, everything was changing. Tears of fear began to leak from his eyes. They were a peculiar orange color. Whatever the tears touched they made it rust. Very soon his face was rusted. Next his hands, then his feet. Now his legs, now his arms. Once all of his body became rusted he began to crumble into orange dust. All that was left was a pile of orange dust that slowly joined the wind.