The Exceptional Clockwork Journey of The Perpetually Alone Hugo Gerard (NaNoWriMo 2012)

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“You’re my what?” Hugo whispered, leaning back onto the desk and away from this insane man that claimed to be his long lost father.

“Tell me Hugo, have you ever felt…” Time paused.  “Different?”

“Uh,” Hugo murmured, not sure what to say. It was true; Hugo had always stuck out like a violet in a field of roses. Everyday at school he used to be whispered about, taunted. He had learned to get used to it, to accept the fact that he was different, but it had still left him confused, thinking why me?

“So you have,” the way Time nodded his head slightly aggravated Hugo. He acted like he knew everyone and everything. 

“I have not!” Hugo denied, furrowing his eyebrows.

“It is only natural,” Time paused, thinking. “You are different. Part clockwork, part human. Your mother and I weren’t even sure you’d live. Of course, she didn’t know of my true identity.” 

“Don’t you dare speak of my mother,” Hugo growled. “How could you hurt her again? After all she’s been through?”

“It was necessary. I have duties,” Time defended, pausing and looking thoughtful for a moment. “Let me see your pocket watch, Hugo.”

“Why?” Hugo was confused, not really sure why the all mighty Time wanted to see his brother’s old pocket watch, but handed it to him regardlessly.

“A fine specimen,” Time commented, still observing the worn bronze. “Your brother must have been proud to own it.” 

“How do you know about him?” Hugo shrieked, quieting down when he still heard Jacques’ humming. 

“He is your half brother, of course I know of him,” Time explained, handing back the pocket watch.

“What happened to Abel is none of your business,” Hugo took it and narrowed his eyes in fury.

“Actually, it is. It disrupted the flow of time and almost landed you into the clutches of your uncle, Oblivion,” Time replied with a matter-of-a-fact tone, looking a bit bored. 

“You are infuriating,” Hugo cursed.

“I know, but that is a matter of time and time itself, Hugo,” Time cocked his head to the side, as if listening for something. “I have matters to attend to. I will be in your bedroom, or attic as it truly is, at nine o’clock,” he talked fast, disappearing with a wave of his hand into golden dust and flying from the room. 

What the heck just happened? thought Hugo, thoroughly confused. 

“Hugo?” Jacques called from the workroom. “Have you found the box yet?” 

Hugo looked down to see a small red box that seemed to just appear at his feet. “Yes, I am coming!”

“Good, because we have a lot of work to do.”

-

That night after dinner Hugo lay in his bed, nervously chewing on his nails. His pocket watch said that it was only eight thirty at night, but the anticipation was literally driving him to insanity. Attempting to rid himself of the nervousness, Hugo picked up Great Expectations from the ground and opened it up to the dog-eared page he had stopped on last night and began to read.

Once he got into the book, minutes flew by like birds, small in comparison to true life. Chapter by chapter passed him by, and Hugo forgot all the worries of the day and poured himself into reading, just reading. He emerged himself into the story, became an orphan, a pickpocket, a rich man. In those short thirty minutes Hugo’s sense of time flew past him, gliding away. He probably never would have stopped if it weren’t for the small tap that came from his window. 

Almost jumping three feet in the air, Hugo threw down his book and glanced out the window nervously, calming a bit when he saw a flash of gold. “Who is it?” he stuttered, still on edge even though he had an idea of who it was.

“Time,” a voice answered, and Hugo relaxed and picked up his book, marking the page and setting it on his table. 

“One second, let me open it,” Hugo stepped forward and peered out the window before thrusting it open and grabbing the hand that could only be his father’s.

Father. What a strange word to say after all this time. Is he lying? Is he really my Father? Hugo thought, pulling the man up. 

“Yes, I really am,” Time responded, as though he had read Hugo’s thoughts.

With a confused expression, Hugo replied, “Can you read my thoughts?” 

“Of course I can!” Time laughed, as though it was funny. Hugo’s expression held the same confusion. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I am a being of power, I am metaphorically Time itself. Of course I can read your thoughts,” Time grinned, stroking his long golden beard.

“I have questions.”

“Of course you do, my boy, ask away!” Time closed the window behind him and perched on the side of Hugo’s bed.

“What I am, exactly?” Hugo asked with a perplexed expression. 

“You, my son, are part clockwork,” Time answered, realizing his son had no idea whatsoever what that was. “If, in fact, you were full clockwork, which your are not, you would be entirely created out of clockwork with the exception of your skin and hair. All muscles, bones, and veins would be created out of clockwork and a golden substance that replaces the blood that is called Chronopoliosis, often nicknamed Ambrosia. Now, as you are a factor of your mother and I, you are only half clockwork, as I am clockwork as well with a few exceptions. You see, all of your muscles, veins, and bones are all constructed from clockwork and Ambrosia, except for your heart. This is because you are part human as well; as I do not have a true heart and neither does any other Clockwork. Your heart does not, however, beat with blood, it beats with Ambrosia, which is the common substitute in our world. Now, on to the more, shall I say, dramatic news.”

“Wait, what?” 

“I have a brother, can you guess his name?”

“Oblivion, was it? I thought that was metaphorical.” 

“It is and it is not,” Time paused. “He is like me, but not like me. My brother is, shall we say, special as far as the members of our family go.”

“How?”

“My, my, aren’t you curious? Just like your mother,” Time grinned sheepishly when Hugo glared at him. “Well, you see Hugo, my brother is quite literally oblivion.” 

“What can he do?” 

“He takes those in the deepest form of depression and molds that depression into oblivion. This means they have no sense of time passing, which is what happened to you after Abel died. They slip into a world of infinite life and no pain or suffering. He uses this world to, well, change them.”

“What do you mean?” Hugo asked.

“I mean they become shells of people and eventually turn on me. Oblivion drives you mad, Hugo, and it’s the worst form of it.”