Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock

I sat outside of the bar covered window watching the man inside. He rushed around the tiny room covered wall to wall in clocks.

Suddenly he began whispering, “Hickory Dickory dock...”

It had been 12 years since I had heard that voice. 12 years since that night, but I still remembered it clearly. The smell of pipe smoke. Pounding on the door. My father’s calloused hands grabbing my arm and shoving me beneath a loose floor board. The creaking of the door swinging open. An unfamiliar voice, “John Clevis?”

Then my father, “Yes? How can I help you gentlemen?”

“I here by place you under arrest for the creation and distribution of unauthorized inventions.”

As I laid listening to the one person who had always been there for me being taken away, I desperately felt the need to be soothed, even if it was by myself. So I opened my mouth and quietly sang the words that my father comforted me with so many sleepless nights, “the mouse ran up the clock...”

I was brought out of my thoughts as a distant clock tower rang out once through the still night. My attention returned to the man as he stopped his tinkering and said, “The clock struck one...”

I could no longer bear to watch. I began my decent down the prison wall and was almost out of earshot when I heard, “The mouse went down...”

I looked up to see the man I called father with his face pressed against the bars looking down at me. My heart skipped a beat. I wanted to say something, but I looked in his eyes and saw no recognition. He didn’t remember me. I wanted to tell him who I was, that I missed him. I wanted to take him far away from that place, but instead I simply looked up to him and said, “Hickory, dickory, dock,” before continuing to climb down.

As my feet hit the ground I could still hear his clocks.

Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock.