Just Killing Time

Bertie slid his wristwatch off and set it on the dinner table. It had stopped working again. He’d already replaced the battery and it had resumed its faithful ticking for a week. But now it had gone silent once more.

“How was work, honey?” asked Meg, his wife of twenty years who unlike his watch never seemed to miss a beat.

“Fine,” Bertie said as he frowned at the watch. Then he added, “I got a promotion.”

“That’s wonderful!” Meg exclaimed. “It’s about time! How many years has it been since you made assistant supervisor?”

“Thirteen,” Bertie replied. He remembered how close he’d been to leaving the company to start his own. But then the promotion had come and he’d decided to keep at it. Lately though he’d been reconsidering the prospect of leaving. He could do it if he would just bite the bullet.

Meg humphed. “Like I said, far too long. Thirteen years with a flawless performance record and they’re just now making you a supervisor! Ridiculous! But even though it's overdue, it's a good reason to celebrate! How about I whip up a special dessert?”

“That’d be lovely, dear,” Bertie declared, still staring at his frozen watch face.

“What’s the matter, honey?” Meg asked, noticing his preoccupation.

“Watch went dead again.”

“Really? You could try taking it to a repair shop.”

“I could, but I think it would be an expensive job. Might be cheaper to just get a new one.”

“But isn’t this the one your father got you for graduating business school?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well then doesn’t the sentimental value make it worth the price?”

Bertie looked up at Meg, “You know I’m not the type to get attached to things.”

Meg smiled at him. “No, you’re not. But every rule has exceptions,” she said before standing and disappearing into the kitchen.

Bertie stared back at the watch.

“No, no,” he muttered to himself. He picked up the watch and followed after Meg.

He could sense her watching him as he hovered near the waste bin. He ran his thumb over the glass face one last time and then let it fall. Even though it wasn’t full yet, he grabbed the edges of the trash bag, hauled it to the big outdoor receptacle, and dumped it in.

He turned to head back inside when a faint ticking reached his ear. He pivoted. After hesitating a moment, he lifted the lid of the receptacle. He reached into the dark to grasp at the bag. Without warning there was a whooshing and it felt like a gust of wind was lifting him off the ground. Up, but then down. He was falling headfirst into the receptacle!

Darkness engulfed him, but then streaking lights appeared in every direction. The lights grew brighter until he was thrust into blinding sunlight. He blinked as loud chiming filled his ears. Looking up he took in the sight of a clock tower looming above him. He recognized it immediately. It wasn’t a sight he’d ever seen in person, but there was no mistaking it. Big Ben.

“What the –” he began to stammer, but suddenly the ground was shaking. Big Ben started shrinking until it was the size of a man. It sprouted arms and legs. Then a red uniform materialized on its humanoid form and a musket appeared in its hands.

Bertie shook his head. Surely he’d suffered some sort of blow to the head and was in some kind of concussed dream.

A set of teeth stretched beneath the clock face. The teeth parted and a voice called out, “Bite it!” Big Ben aimed the musket barrel at Bertie’s head. “Bite it!”

It couldn’t be real, but Bertie didn’t want to test the theory. He took off running as fast as his feet could carry him. He made for a nearby bridge. He saw figures walking toward him and he called out for help, but when he finally reached them they transformed into birds. Not just any birds, but ugly vultures. They flapped their wings and clucked their beaks at him.

“Bite it!”

Big Ben was gaining on him and Bertie was tiring fast. Breathing heavily he came to a stop and looked out at the river below. As he watched, the current of the water became confused, swirling in many directions. Then the water seemed to separate into distinct strands. The strands had eyes and flickering tongues. Snakes.

The snakes began to chant, “Don’t tread on me. Don’t tread on me.”

“Bite it!”

Bertie swiveled around. Big Ben stood a few feet away from him with an army of vultures in redcoat uniforms behind him.

“Bite it.” Big Ben said calmly as it raised the musket until the end of the barrel brushed Bertie’s lips.

The snake chanting grew louder. Bertie opened his mouth. He didn’t know what came next but he knew he had to surrender. A moment passed in stillness and then Big Ben pulled the trigger. Sound erupted and it felt as though Bertie’s mouth was on fire. Darkness surged around him like a flurry of black wings. He was falling again, but with a thump he landed on the concrete of his driveway.

Bertie’s watch was in his hand, the familiar ticking restored. He gazed at it in wonder and then began to laugh. It was a full belly kind of laugh that he hadn’t experienced in quite some time. He jumped to his feet with the spryness of a younger man and rushed inside.

Meg startled at his sudden entrance and whisked some cream onto the counter. She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “What have you been doing out there? You smell like a landfill!”

Bertie grinned. “I’m going to do it, Meg! I really am!”

“Do what?” she asked with concern.

“I’m going to quit! I’m going to start my own business and be my own boss!”

Meg raised an eyebrow, but then she smiled. “Well, it’s about time.”