The Clockmaker’s Gift
In a small village tucked away in the
mountains, there lived a man known as the
Clockmaker. His shop, nestled between two
ancient oaks, was filled with clocks of every
shape and size—grandfather clocks, pocket
watches, and delicate timepieces that
glimmered with gold. The villagers often
spoke of the Clockmaker’s uncanny ability
to repair time itself.
People came from far and wide to have their
clocks fixed, for it was said that his work
could do more than just restore the ticking
hands of a clock—it could mend broken
moments, lost time, and forgotten
memories. But there was one rule: never ask
for more time than you had, for the
Clockmaker never gave back what was
taken.
One winter’s evening, a young woman
named Evelyn entered the shop. Her eyes
were clouded with grief, her hands
trembling as she held a small, battered
pocket watch. It had once belonged to her
father, who had passed away many years
ago. She had cherished it as a reminder of
him, but time had been cruel, and the watch
had stopped ticking long ago.
The Clockmaker looked up from his
workbench, his eyes as deep as the
shadows that clung to the corners of his
shop. Without a word, he gestured for
Evelyn to sit. She placed the watch before
him, her voice barely a whisper.
“It’s broken,” she said. “Can you fix it?”
The Clockmaker’s gaze lingered on the
watch. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I can fix it,
but you must promise me one thing,” he
said, his voice soft and firm. “Time cannot
be undone. You must not ask for more than
what was given.”
Evelyn swallowed hard, her heart aching
with the weight of her words. “I only want to
hear his voice again,” she whispered. “Just
once more.”
The Clockmaker remained silent for a long
moment, his fingers gently turning the gears
of the watch. He had heard such pleas
before—people who wanted more than just
the passage of time. They wanted to turn
back the clock, to undo what had been lost.
But there were no bargains with time, no
second chances. He knew this all too well.
Finally, he looked up at her, his face
unreadable. “I will grant your wish,” he said,
“but remember this: time is a fragile thing.
Once it is given, it cannot be taken back.”
With that, he began to work, his hands
moving deftly over the watch, winding and
turning the delicate gears. The air in the
shop grew still, as if the very world itself had
stopped to watch.
After what seemed like an eternity, the
Clockmaker handed the watch back to
Evelyn. “It is done,” he said. “Listen closely.”
Evelyn held the watch to her ear. For a
moment, there was only silence. Then,
faintly, a voice echoed through the stillness
—a voice she had not heard in years.
“Evelyn… don’t be afraid. I am always with
you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. The tears
came unbidden, flowing down her cheeks as
she clutched the watch to her chest. It was
her father’s voice—soft, warm, and full of
love.
But as the words faded, Evelyn felt
something stir within her—a deep, gnawing
emptiness. She looked up at the
Clockmaker, her hands shaking.
“It’s not enough,” she said, her voice barely a
whisper. “I want more. I want him back. I
want more time with him.”
The Clockmaker’s eyes grew sad, but he did
not speak. He simply reached for the watch
and held it between his fingers. For a
moment, time seemed to stop again. Then,
with a slow, deliberate motion, he turned the
hands of the watch backwards, one tick at a
time.
As the hands moved, Evelyn felt the air
around her shift, and the room grew colder.
The world outside seemed to grow distant,
like a fading memory. She closed her eyes,
wishing for just a few more seconds—just a
few more moments with her father.
When she opened her eyes again, the shop
was gone. The village was gone. She was
standing in the middle of a vast, empty
space—her father’s voice still echoing in her
ears, calling to her from the distance.
The Clockmaker had granted her wish, but
time, like all things, had its price. And now,
Evelyn realized, she was no longer part of
the world she had known. The moment she
had begged for had come and gone, and
there would be no returning.
As the seconds stretched into eternity, she
understood the Clockmaker’s warning.
Some moments are meant to be treasured
for the time they are given, not for the time
they could have been.
And with that understanding, the silence
swallowed her whole.
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