THE DAY THE CLOCK STOPPED.

19 Feb

THE DAY THE CLOCK STOPPED.

god photo: GOD OGD.jpg  When my clock stopped the world ended.

Just like that. It simply ran out of time, and ended.

And God looked down and shook his ancient curls and wondered whether he should nudge the pendulum, should get it going again.

But he’d made mistakes, and knew it.

He’d better think it all out first.

Things had gone badly wrong, and it was all his Almighty fault. He’d known since the beginning.

The trouble was, he hadn’t ever had a clue what to do about it. There was something he couldn’t get his omniscient head about.

Maybe it was women. Maybe if he hadn’t created women…? But his world needed women or there’d only be the one man on it, and he wasn’t immortal. He’d have died ages ago. Man needed to breed, and he needed women to help him.

Maybe it was that sodding apple back in the garden. Maybe if he hadn’t forbidden that? They wouldn’t have discovered they were naked and felt shame because of their different genitals and wouldn’t have invented fig-leaf clothes.

They’d ended up with fashions and elaborate decorations, but there’d been a side-effect. Clothes kept them warm.

Men and women more bothered about the cold in winter than what time it might be … they’d all still be going about gloriously naked and my clock probably wouldn’t have stopped because nobody would have seen the need to make it in the first place. Why make clocks when the time didn’t matter?

And what about the bloody rainbow? He’d promised about never doing it again, like a fool. Promises made are sacrosanct, and if he hadn’t made promises about floods and the like back then he could have enjoyed orchestrating a few more, with drenching downpours and exciting lightning, when things started going wrong again…

But no. It was none of those.

What was it, then? He’d done all the right things, surely? Given the little toe-rags a beautiful planet to sprawl all over, free will to do what they liked with and the brains to work them out…

Maybe it was those brains?

Maybe he should have been more careful with his distribution of intelligence? Taken away the mental power that would lead to disaster?

But it wasn’t that, either.

He’d made a much more vital mistake.

Then, in a flash of inspiration, he knew what it was.

He knew where he, the Almighty, had gone wrong. He saw his own big error.

He’d created man and he’d told him right there in the beginning that he’d moulded him in his own image. Sod it! That must be it! It meant they all thought they were clones of him. They all thought they were little gods!

But – and here was the rub – he could put things right. At least that much was possible. He could take away all awareness of himself. Then they’d have nothing to be in the image of.

So he reached down to the dead world and picked up every last copy of every last religious text that proclaimed to be his own word, and threw them into the sun where they made a jolly new (and temporary) solar flare.

He looked in corners everywhere. He smashed stained glass windows with images of himself in them. He wiped videos, he obliterated religious films, he levelled steeples to the ground. He actually removed every trace of himself from every mean and meagre corner of every synagogue, ever cathedral, every mosque, every chapel and every papal palace before destroying them.

And he leaned down, winked it me, and tapped the pendulum of my clock.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock….

“Time for lunch!” called my smiling wife, and without noticing my own nudity I sat at the table.

© Peter Rogerson 19.02.15

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2 Responses to “THE DAY THE CLOCK STOPPED.”

  1. georgiakevin April 9, 2015 at 3:08 pm #

    This was the first of your posts that as i began to read it I was prepared to not like but as with anything you write I had to read it from start to finish………………….man was I ever glad that I did because by the time i got to the end I found that i had gone from not liking it to liking it a lot (No surprise there).

    You have an O’Henry like way of turning your last sentence/paragraph in to a surprise ending (a mark of a truly great writer!).

    Yet again your post is very well done indeed.

  2. Peter Rogerson April 9, 2015 at 5:34 pm #

    It was something I had impressed on me back in late 50s by an English teacher who was obsessed by the endings of short stories.

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