The Countdown to Forever

Finley

I have a thing about clocks. I'm sure everyone must, after all, we live according to time. How much you can spare, how much you can waste, how much you have left. It's like a currency--except you don't control how much you get. Even the wealthiest man can run out in the blink of an eye.

People watch the clocks in the square all the time. There's three there alone, one on each of the stone walls which form a "U" pavilion. I'm fascinated by clocks, how they dole out life like a candy dispenser. But I never look at them. Not even the one built into me.

That's right, I was born with a small glowing clock tattooed to the inside of my left wrist. It's digital--like a count down. We all have them. You see, the clock starts when your heart does at a certain number of days, months, years, even seconds. The number is different depending on who you are. I won't try to explain where they come from because I don't know.

What matters is your clock. It is a countdown to the exact second you will first meet your soulmate. The love of your life. Don't laugh, the true. And the scary part is--it actually works. No one is forced to marry their "soulmate" or even meet them. (Though somehow people always do.) Somehow or another the two people are always a perfect match. They've found their other halves. They're happy.

My brother Trey was born with 02 years 3 months 11 days 56 minutes and 7 seconds. When the nurses told my mother, she was overjoyed. How soon he would meet her! How lucky he was! Trey would find his true love before the nurse who delivered him.

And, of course, he did.

When Trey was a little over two years old he woke screaming in the middle of the night. His face was burning with fever so my mother carried him out into the cool air. Snow was falling lightly in our apartment courtyard.

From beneath the awning my mother watched a small woman knock on apartment 2A where an elderly couple lived. She placed a blanketed bundle on the ground and scurried off before the door could open.

Trey started to bawl.

Mildly curious, my mother headed after the woman but was sidetracked when 2A opened its door. She froze as the kind old man picked up the bundle. Inside was a small girl, fast asleep.

Trey's clock hit zero.

The next morning my mother went to 2A and told Mr. Matter what she had seen. He examined that the woman had been his daughter. She had left a note explaining that she could no longer take care of her young daughter and begged him to take the girl in. He did.

While they were taking, Trey crawled over to the girl's crib. "Cece," he whispered to little Celia Matter.

They were never separated again.

When I was thirteen my mother told me the story of when her clock ran out. She was studying in an ice cream shoppe and had lost track of time. She was too engrossed in her book to be nervous. It was her freshman year in college and the books were difficult. 

A handsome guy slid into the booth next to her and handed her a malt. After 19 years, 10 months, 13 hours, her clock stopped and went out. It disappeared into her skin. She no longer needed it.

I catch her peeking at her left wrist from time to time. It's a hard habbit to break. I don't do it. I'm different. I don't like to watch my clock. 

Because mine has read zero since birth. But I never met my soulmate. I never fell in love. And the clock didn't disappear. It stays at zero and mocks me. Somehow I was born without a soulmate. I was born without the ability to be loved. 

I am all alone. 

A/N Please comment and vote! I'd love to know what you think! I'm writing this for the 2015 wattys Just write It so it will have quick updates almost daily. :)