I wrote yesterday but was too tired to think. And while I’ll willingly share rough drafts in much of their rough and tumble glory, sometimes I have to say no.
I’ve written a little this evening. I was exhausted after work today, and maybe I can get enough sleep tonight if I walk away from the computer at a decent hour.
But here’s what I managed to write today. I took some of the scene I tried to write yesterday and redid it. It’s still rough, VERY ROUGH! But thanks for reading anyway.
The clock tower no longer told time. City officials said the gears came to a halt after the Workers Rebellion twenty years back. The trains failed to run, leaving the needed parts undelivered. The Clock Master joined the rebellion and no one else could see to the needs of massive machine. No one seemed interested in fixing it, and Ida thought of it as nothing more than a landmark about as significant as the non-working petrol station at the end of her street.
Ida leaned against the tower wall, near the plaque declaring it a monument to those who stood for tradition and against the rebellion. People didn’t read the plaque. Not even Ida read it as she stood there idly waiting for Millie-Marie.
A few city officials argued the city clock stopped turning when the governor refused to pay the engineers and staff who kept the clock tower and most other municipal offices in working order. The clock tower could work again if the governor released the funds and apologized. Ida knew nothing about this. She’d have needed a bit of time to remember who the governor even was.
Citizens believed other stories. Ida’s mother had repeated a rumor she claimed not to believe but that she couldn’t stop talking about. The clock tower ceased telling time when the governor, or his henchmen perhaps, threw the Clock Master into the gears. The Clock Master, Ida’s mother assured the children, hadn’t joined the Rebellion. He’d lead the damn thing until crushed at two minutes to twelve.
Ida’s classmates had sometimes dared each other to sneak into the tower and crawl into the works. “You’ll see the Clock Master’s bones jammed in the teeth,” said one boy Ida never particularly liked.
“I heard they used the blood of unwanted children to grease the gears,” she’d replied. She’d never heard such a thing, but she couldn’t resist adding bloodshed to a story. Her embellishments had made her mother laugh.
“That why you missing so many brothers and sisters?” the boy asked.
She pushed him. “Am not.”
“Uh-uh. Your mom’s had so many kids, she’s been selling them for body parts.”
She’d kicked him in the shins. “Go to the tower and bring back a bone if you’re so clever.”
Now, Ida leaned against the tower and its shadow fell over the marketplace. Few people ever looked up at the tower’s worn face. Ida didn’t believe any of the stories. She believed what her father had told her. One day the great clock quit. The gears came to a stop and the Clock Master vanished. Perhaps he never existed. Once in a while someone wondered out loud about fixing the old thing, but the town needed more fresh food brought in and more armaments at the wall. Who argued for wasting resources on a timepiece? Who even cared about time?
I haven’t even figured out what genre this story is going to be. Hmm…