the old pocket watch

A Story by yanacolors

A quick write that I am considering making a short story series.

My time spent here meant nothing to him and everything to me. I picked up the pocket watch, examining its rusted exterior. The edges have become worn over years of use and the etching can no longer be made out. The button sticks and I have to use my pinky nail to pry open the front cover. Five past ten. We have five more minutes. I sigh and walk back down the pier, sitting down next to the tall, middle-aged man at the end. He doesn’t look at me, his caramel eyes continue their search across the water, feet dangling off the pier. “It was nice to see you again grandpa,” I whisper knowing he cannot hear me. My hands ache to reach for him, to touch his shoulder, but I know he would not feel the touch. There is a gentle ting sound and the pier fades away, returning me to the dark world of the future where I am alone. I clutch the watch tightly in my hand and let out a deep breath before opening my eyes to my current reality.

The dark heavy clouds had released the rain and the filthy, city of the future is being drenched with even filthier rain. I scan my surroundings, a few shaded figures lurk between buildings and in doorways but there are no curious eyes in my direction. Everyone has learned to mind their business since the new “don’t look, don’t speak” policy went into effect.

I place the watch securely in my right, pant pocket and head for the closest metro station. The few seconds I spend under the rain leaves me drenched and dripping dirt, I rub at my face with my gray hands hoping to at least eliminate the dirt around my eyes in order to see. The train approaches and the screeching of the breaks make my ears ring with discomfort but I hardly make a face, this is my life now, I reiterate to myself as I step off the platform and onto the third metro cart.