The clock ticked. It was loud. Too loud. I sat in the dark. The house was cold. The air smelled of dust and old wood. I held the pocket watch in my left hand. It was warm. It should not have been warm. I had not touched it in days. It sat on the shelf. I knew it sat on the shelf. My hand was empty. But I felt the weight. I felt the gold case. I felt the chain.

I am a watchmaker. I fix time. I fix seconds. I make them move. I make them stop. I am good at it. People say I am a ghost. They say I live in the past. I do not live in the past. I live in the present. The present is broken. I fix it.

My name is Elias. I live in this house. It is old. It is big. It is full of clocks. Wall clocks. Table clocks. Pocket watches. They all tick. They all chime. They all tell me I am alone. I like being alone. It is quiet. Or it should be quiet. But the clocks do not stop.

The watch was a gift. From my father. He was a merchant. He traded in things. He traded in secrets. He gave me the watch when I was twelve. It was a gold watch. It had a lion on the back. The lion was angry. It looked at me. I looked at it. I wore it every day. I wound it every morning. I never let it stop.

Then he died. He died in the factory. The machine took his arm. The machine took his life. I was not there. I was here. In this house. I was fixing a clock. I was busy. I was safe. I was alive. I felt nothing. I felt nothing until the body came back. The body smelled of oil. The body smelled of blood. I did not cry. I did not speak. I put the watch in the box. I locked the box. I threw away the key.

Years passed. I grew up. I got a shop. I got a wife. She left. She said I was cold. She said I was dead. She was right. I was dead. I was alive. I am both. I am a watchmaker. I fix time. I fix seconds.

The watch appeared again. It was on the table. In the kitchen. The box was open. The lock was broken. I did not break it. I did not open it. Who did? The house is locked. The doors are bolted. The windows are shut. There is no one else. There is no one.

I picked it up. The lion looked at me. It smiled. It did not smile before. It looked happy. It looked proud. I put it in my pocket. I wound it. It started. Tick. Tick. Tick. It was louder than the other clocks. It was louder than my heart.

I went to work. I sat at my bench. I held a tiny screwdriver. I held a lens. I looked at a gear. The gear was missing. I replaced it. The clock worked. A customer came in. It was Mrs. Gable. She had a blue dress. She had a sad face.

"Can you fix this?" she asked.

I looked at the watch. It was a silver watch. It was scratched. It was broken.

"Yes," I said.

"Please," she said. "It was my mother's."

I nodded. I took it. I put it in a drawer. I went back to my work. I felt the pocket watch in my pocket. It was hot. It burned my leg. I touched it. It was warm. It was alive.

I looked at the silver watch. I looked at the gears. I saw a flaw. A tiny crack. In the mainspring. It was old. It was weak. It would break. It would stop.

I took my tools. I opened the case. I looked inside. The crack was there. I could see it. I could see the end. I could see the death.

I did not fix it. I watched. I waited. The spring tightened. It pulled. It pulled. It snapped. The watch stopped. The silence was huge. The silence was loud.

Mrs. Gable came back. She stood by the counter. She looked at me. Her eyes were wet.

"It is broken," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Can you fix it?" she asked.

I looked at the watch. I looked at her. I thought of my father. I thought of the machine. I thought of the arm. I thought of the blood. I thought of the silence.

"No," I said.

She frowned. She stepped back. She left the watch on the counter. She walked out. The door closed. The bell rang. The sound was sharp. The sound was cruel.

I picked up the watch. I held it. I felt the cold metal. I felt the stillness. I felt the end. I put it in the box. I locked the box. I kept the key.

I went home. I was late. The house was dark. The clocks were ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick. I went to the kitchen. The table was empty. The box was open. The pocket watch was gone.

I panicked. I looked around. I checked the shelves. I checked the drawers. I checked the floor. It was not there. I was alone. I was sure I was alone.

Then I saw it. On the floor. Under the table. It was rolling. It was spinning. It was ticking. It was loud. It was fast. It was angry.

I picked it up. The lion looked at me. It was not smiling. It was frowning. It was sad. It was tired.

I sat down. I held the watch. I held it tight. I closed my eyes. I listened.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

It was my heartbeat. It was not my heartbeat. It was the watch. It was the machine. It was the death.

I understood. I understood then. The watch was not a gift. It was a curse. It was a trap. It was a piece of my father. It was a piece of the factory. It was a piece of the violence. I had held it. I had wound it. I had fed it. I had kept it alive. I had kept the pain alive.

I am a watchmaker. I fix time. I fix seconds. I think I am good. I think I am right. I think I am safe. I am wrong. I am not safe. I am not right. I am not good.

The watch is not a tool. The watch is a monster. It eats time. It eats life. It eats me. I am the gear. I am the spring. I am the clock. I am broken. I am stopped.

I looked at the lion. The lion looked at me. I saw myself. I saw the man in the mirror. I saw the man with the arm. I saw the man with the blood. I was him. I was the machine. I was the death.

I could not let it go. I wanted to let it go. I wanted to throw it away. I wanted to break it. I wanted to kill it. I wanted to kill myself.

I held it. I held it tight. The heat was strong. The heat was pain. The heat was life. I needed it. I needed the pain. I needed the end. I needed the stop.

I stood up. I walked to the window. I looked outside. The street was empty. The street was dark. The street was silent. The clocks in the houses were ticking. They were all ticking. They were all wrong. They were all late. They were all early. They were all dead.

I looked at the watch. I looked at the lion. I saw the truth. The truth is simple. The truth is hard. The truth is cruel.

Goodness is not a thing. Evil is not a thing. They are the same. They are the gears. They are the springs. They are the time. They are the life. They are the death. I am both. I am the maker. I am the made. I am the watcher. I am the watched.

I am not a hero. I am not a villain. I am a watchmaker. I fix time. I fix seconds. I am good at it. I am very good.

I put the watch on my wrist. I fastened the clasp. It was tight. It was tight. It was right.

I walked to the front door. I opened the door. The air was cold. The air was fresh. The air was new. I stepped out. I closed the door. The lock clicked. The sound was final.

I walked down the street. I walked fast. I walked hard. I walked to the river. The river was dark. The river was deep. The river was loud. The river was alive.

I stood on the bridge. I looked down. The water moved. The water swirled. The water waited.

I held the watch. I held it in my hand. I held it tight. I felt the heat. I felt the life. I felt the end.

I thought of my father. I thought of the machine. I thought of the arm. I thought of the blood. I thought of the silence.

I thought of Mrs. Gable. I thought of the silver watch. I thought of the crack. I thought of the snap. I thought of the death.

I thought of my wife. I thought of the cold. I thought of the dead. I thought of the alive.

I thought of myself. I thought of the lion. I thought of the smile. I thought of the frown. I thought of the sadness.

I opened my hand. I let go.

The watch fell.

It hit the water.

It sank.

It disappeared.

The silence came.

The silence was huge.

The silence was loud.

The silence was me.

I stood on the bridge. I stood still. I stood alone. I stood in the dark. I stood in the cold.

I was empty.

I was full.

I was free.

I was trapped.

I was alive.

I was dead.

The clocks ticked.

The clocks stopped.

The clocks began again.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.