'Time is Ticking or The Drama which was called London, 2012'
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The
car stopped. People didn’t notice, they just walked on. All were busy, all were pretending to focus on their daily tasks and duties. It was brown, of the dirty kind which made you wonder how someone could ever have ordered such a pain to the eye of the beholder.
Would nobody know? It seemed to be thus. The
clocks of time where going on, ever and ever, at a steady pace. Nobody could stop them, nobody wanted to. Even if that dream was to be mankind’s greatest desire, it could not have undone the time’s regime.
Tick.
Tick.
There was a man; coughing, choking, almost drowning. Stumbling out of the car, clearly one of those dirty victims of the vile
silicosis. He had once been the proud owner of a large, black beard, which was now wet and dirty because of his own mouth’s excretions. Would anyone notice?
No, they had no time for this creature. It was 2012, this was London. They were there to indulge in the pleasures of the games being put up for them. Time continued, mankind remained the same. Just like those Romans who called themselves ‘civilized’, who had known the silicosis and were being entertained in their arena’s, the modern man hurried to his temples of sport.
Tick.
Tick.
It seemed like no living being would notice the poor, wretched creature which was struggling to get away from the car. It was like he lived in his own dimension, with his very own clock ticking away a different time.
Woof! Woof!
Ah, there was one who noticed. Where most of the mass continued running, unaware of either fate or time or their
incredible misfortune, one crept closer to this malevolent being. Hairy, of the same dirty brown and equally unnoticed by the masses, it strolled towards the man. Poking its wet nose into the other’s business. It smelled, collapsed, knew it. Finally, one had noticed.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
BOOM!
In less than a second the dirty brown car, the gargling man, the
dog and all those hurrying on were undone. The explosion of light and heath and terror had stopped their clocks, time would not run for them any longer.
Would this be the end? Would time itself finally be undone?
Tick.
Tick.
No. Time would not listen to the windmills of men’s mind, would not allow itself to be stopped – if only for a second – by such a small event in the history of the universe.
Had anyone noticed? Most didn’t. Time didn’t.
And thus, the clocks ticked on as time passed by at a steady pace.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.