Tick, tick, tick.

The incessant ticking of a clock that is always there in the background of your life as a reminder of something you lost. There is a never tock, never that infinitesimal pause before time lurches forward again. You move forward constantly, without pause, without rest. Always searching for something, yet you never know what it is you are looking for.

Tick, tick, tick.

You walk forward, your footsteps falling in rhythm with the ticking of time. You curse silently at the melody of ticks; you abhor the sound. It has been your constant reminder during the last five years of something you have lost, but what infuriates you the most is that you cannot recollect what exactly you have lost. All you know is the empty pit that has carved a place in your chest.

You run a hand through your hair in frustration. The heat of the sun burns along with the flames of anger that up your skin. Sidestepping, you duck into a small alley and raise your left arm up to touch the face of the watch that fits snuggly around your wrist. A projection of a screen falls onto the dark bricks of the wall in front of you. With the ease of having done this thousands of times, you quickly type in a date and location. A small beep confirms your actions and you close your eyes, counting back from three in your head.

A slight pressure begins atop your head and you feel as if it will squash you right into the pavement. You fight the urge to move and brace yourself. Just as the force is about to become overwhelming you disappear with a soft pop, the only witness to this phenomenon is a tabby cat that resumes cleaning its paw.

The quiet rustles of a midnight forest are interrupted by a pop, the sole indicator of time itself being ripped apart, and a thin seam that spits out a person onto a bed of ferns and brambles. You are afforded a meager glimpse of your surrounding before suddenly tumbling downwards, a consequence of having miscalculated your exact landing spot. Broken twigs nick your skin and the jutting corners of rocks push against you to leave you speckled with violet bruises in the morning. You roll unceremoniously to stop and carefully sit up, pulling out leaves that lie curled into your hair.

“Great,” you huff, brushing at your clothes and inspecting yourself as best you can in the minimal moonlight that filters between the trees. A slight shiver trembles through you and you remember that it is near winter in this Time. You scrunch your nose at the thin fabric of your clothes that were only suitable for the weather of your last Jump. You would need to hurry home before you freeze to death.

With a final pat across your knees you stand up, rocking slightly as your equilibrium tries to adjust to the sudden lack of rotation. You bring up your left arm again, raising the watch closer to your face. A tap against the watch face elicits no reaction and you tap another time with a little more force. Nothing.

“,” you curse as the branches overhead shift and flood you in light. The face of the watch is completely shattered and you groan at the thought of what other damage has been done. “, , !” you yell to the creatures that scurry away at the intrusion of their peace. Panic and fear pulse through you; your watch must be fixed immediately. It is your only way to return to a Time that you have yet to remember.

However, it is the middle of the night and no repair shops are open. You bite back another shout and spin on your heel to face the hill behind you. Grabbing onto tree roots and rocks, you climb back up to the path on which you were originally supposed to land and begin the journey back to your apartment, all the while cursing vehemently at any god you can think of.

When you arrive at your apartment building you surmise that you are precisely 30 seconds away from becoming a solid popsicle. The keys in your hands jingle as you try three times to insert it into the lock, blowing out a relieved breath as the bolt slides back with a click. You push your shoulder against the door as you turn the knob and practically melt as the warm air of your apartment greets you.

Kicking the door shut with your foot, you hurriedly make a beeline to the electric kettle sitting on your kitchen counter. With practiced movements you make a steaming cup of hot chocolate and gratefully grasp it between your frigid palms. As you take a small sip and allow the warmth to defrost your muscles all the way down to your toes, you note that you most definitely came from a Time that did not have such an exquisite drink.

Thinking of your unknown Time, your shoulders droop and you lean against the counter. Hazy images flicker in your memory of the Time Storm that scooped you up and deposited you in what you called the “Current Time”. When you had come to, you were in this very apartment with only a scribbled note containing bullet points of the date, location, a vague explanation of the Time Storm, a large wad of cash, and a silver wristwatch. Confusion and fear crippled you; with no idea of your Time, or how to navigate the Current Time, you had remained holed up in the apartment for a full month. Your only friend and constant was the ticking of the wristwatch.

You don’t recall much of your own Time; the only memories that come when you beckon are ones of the sun and the weighted warmth of a hand entwined with yours. You take the scarce memories and use them to search through different Times. For five years you have been Jumping, searching for any clues, any spark of recognition of the Time you belonged to. So far you have come up empty every time. It’s difficult to find something when you have no inkling whatsoever of what it is you are to look for; a solitary grain of sand amongst millions of others that cascade to the bottom of an hourglass.

You shake your head to rid yourself of the thoughts that plague you and finish your hot chocolate. Mindlessly you wash the used mug and set it aside to dry. It’s late, but you need to look up nearby repair shops that can hopefully repair your only lifeline back to your Time. You walk over to your desk and slip onto the cushioned chair with a heavy sigh.

A worn notebook lies open to your right, an array of dates and locations are neatly printed out in black ink. There are nine listed on the current page with six already crossed out behind a bold red ‘X’. You pick up a red pen and scratch out the seventh entry, the familiar sense of hopelessness nestling back in your heart like it does after every failed Jump. You close the notebook with a snap and shove it to the side next to three similar, but completely filled notebooks.  

You turn your attention to your computer and shake the mouse to bring the monitor to life. After a quick search you find that the nearest repair shop, Bang’s Watch & Clock Repair, is only 10 minutes away and opens at 7AM sharp. You read through several reviews before deciding that it is most definitely your best chance at having your watch fixed on time.

Content with your find, you turn off your computer and push back from the desk. Sleep begins to weave its way through your muscles, settling like sand into the crevices of your bones and weighing you down with exhaustion. Nights are always the hardest when all of the doubts and fears that sleep behind closed doors during the day wake, and slip to the forefront of your mind to whisper to you as you fight with empty dreams.

You awake to a gray morning with purple crescents under your eyes and a chest that feels hollow and frigid.

You slide from the warmth of the pale blue sheets and shuffle quietly across the cold floor to wash up. Turning on the faucet of the bathroom sink, you bend forward and let the steaming water run across the insides of your wrists. It does little to melt the ice that sits heavily in your heart, but it warms your exterior enough to release the tension in your muscles. You scrub at your face, attempting to wash away the lines and dark circles that seem to grow in number every morning. It yields no results so you turn away with a sigh and move quickly back to your room to get dressed. After carefully bundling up you tug on a pair of boots and slip through the front door.

The silence of the sleeping morning is foreign to your ears, and, suddenly, you realize why. The ticking of the wristwatch has ceased, however, you swear you can still hear the tempo tapping away steadily in your head. You inhale the frosty air to clear your head, mentally tuning out the ticks, and begin the 10 minute walk to the shop.

Exactly 10 minutes later you stand frowning at the padlocked door of Bang’s Watch & Clock repair. You huff in annoyance, your breath curling out in front of you in a wispy white cloud. Despite your lack of wrist wear, your familiarity with time assures you that you have arrived right on the dot.

“How can someone who runs a clock shop be late?” you mumble to yourself as you fidget back and forth to stay warm.

“Because he forgot to set his alarm last night,” a low voice answers behind you.

You turn around in surprise to stare at the man who stands with an amused glimmer in his eyes. Half of his face is hidden behind a thick red scarf, but the other half that is slightly tinged pink from the cold is handsome. A pair of rounded gold glasses slides down the bridge of his nose and he reaches up with a slender finger to push them back up. You were not expecting such a young man to own a clock repair shop, imagining instead a hunched over graying grandfather.

“You’re right on time,” he says, voice slightly muffled by his scarf.

“Ah, yeah,” you nod, “I don’t like being late.”

The man chuckles and steps around you to unlock the door. He pushes it open and gestures for you to go inside first. Once inside, you are met with the gentle ticking of hundreds of clocks. You pause in awe at the lack of anxiety it causes you – something that your watch brought to you every second over the past five years. Instead, this ticking is calm and reassuring; much like the vibe of the man who now removes his coat behind the counter gives off.

He clears his throat to catch your attention, “Welcome to Bang’s Watch & Clock Repair, I’m Yongguk.”

You smile and greet him back, “I’m ___. Nice shop you’ve got here.”

Yongguk’s mouth spreads into a wide smile. “Thank you, it was handed down to me from my grandfather. What can I help you with today? It must be urgent for you to get here before me.”

You reach down into your coat pocket and fish around until you wrap your fingers around the cold metal of your watch. You pull it out and hold it up as you walk closer to the counter. “I need this fixed as soon as possible, please.”

Yongguk gently takes the watch from your palm, his fingertips just as icy as the metal he now holds. He studies it carefully before looking back up at you.

“Well, it definitely needs new glass. It seems you knocked it against something pretty hard, so I’ll have to take it apart to asses if there is any damage inside. Overall, it can take between a few days to two weeks to repair.”

You groan and push your fingers through your hair. What are you supposed to do for two weeks? Even though you had no clue what you are searching for, a sense of urgency and panic builds up in your chest at the thought of not being able to Jump for a fortnight.

Yongguk sees the panic on your face and fumbles over his words to reassure you, “Leave me your number and I’ll call you later today to let you know the time table. I’m the best repair guy in town, I promise I’ll fix it as quickly as possible.” His hand slides across the counter to lie gently on top on your own. You note how chilly his hand still is.

“Alright,” you agree. Yongguk takes out a pen and a notepad to take down your number.

He walks you to the door and waves you off as you walk to the end of the street. You pause at the crosswalk and bury your face in your hands; time felt like it was speeding up and you were quickly running out of it.