No Time (The First Short Story I’ve Had Published)

No Time

The clock, it ticks on the wall. Ticks past the time. Constant and everlasting, ticking away until that day. The day that everything will change. The day the world will lose its self and the people will follow, in its wake. The day time will stop passing and in its place the people will tick away one by one, second by second. The day when we will stop losing time and all that will be left is life. Tick… Tick… Tick… that day has come.

It started unlike any other day. The sun didn’t rise. The birds didn’t sing. My alarm clock didn’t sound. But that was least of my worries. My day when time didn’t pass was going to be the longest of my life.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I don’t know if anyone other than me is ever going to read it. I don’t know if anyone is going to survive. It’s been 23 hours, 51 minutes and 58 seconds since time stopped. So far, as close and my maths can make it 4,764,967,064 billion people are dead, and at any second I could join that figure.

No time, that’s what the news was calling it. The amount of time that has passed since time stopped. Before the news stopped broadcasting there was a scientist, who had a theory. He thought that the mass of people dying was because time had stopped. His theory was that 77,892 people were dying a second and if you multiplied that number by 86,400 the number of seconds in a single day, you would get the world’s population. I believe him but that doesn’t matter now. Nothing does. Nothing I do makes a difference. All that’s left for me is to wait. Wait for my second.

I’m not sad or upset in any way at the thought of my death. That’s only because I now understand that all I can do is wait. The people still living have no choice. I know this because four hours, 16 minutes and 33 seconds ago I tried to take my own life. The only choice I thought I had left. I was wrong.

In my bedroom, in a small wooden chest at the bottom of my wardrobe, is a gun. Don’t ask me why I have a gun; you’ll not have the chance. I can’t say for sure if everyone will be able to understand what it is like to hold a gun to your head and pull the trigger. I can. I’m unsure if everyone else will be able to imagine this. I can, I was in that situation.

Imagine how hard it is to lift that gun. Feel the weight of it in your left hand. The cold steel sending a slight shiver up your spine. You can feel the weight of the bullet in your other hand, notice how light it feels in comparison as you load it in to the gun. You take a moment or two, maybe even three as you come to terms with what it is you are about to do. As you raise the gun to your head, taking that last slow breath as you close your eyes and pull the trigger. Now imagine what it’s like when the gun doesn’t fire. When the gun can’t fire. The thought of having to lift that gun again is unimaginable. I was able to lift that gun again. I was able to hold it to my head; and I was able to pull the trigger. The gun still didn’t fire.

I don’t know if this is true, but like the scientist on TV I have a theory. I don’t think we’re allowed to die until it’s our second. I have never been a religious person. Never believed in a higher power. Today that has changed. It’s the only way that any of this can make sense in my head. There must be a higher power. A higher power that stopped time 23 hours, 54 minutes and 26 seconds ago. A higher power that has given each of us a second. I believe this because my gun works. Their is a hole in my wall that proves it.

We all take time for granted. We never think about how much time we have left. When we are going to die. I can’t help but find it ironic. Ironic that it takes time to stop before anyone notices how much we have left. Now it’s all anyone can think about. I haven’t made up my mind yet. Whether or not I’m one of the lucky few whose second was left near the end. I feel as if I’ve entered a state of enlightenment. I now realise the important things that matter. The things that if I had another day of time, I would do. I would tell my wife that I loved her more often. I would buy my daughter the Elmo toy she has wanted all week. I would finally tell my parents that when I was 20 I took a year out of university and bummed around. I would do the things that anyone of us would do if we had more time. Then I would do more again.

My name is Conrad Gray. I am 43 years old. I worked at K.J.H investments. I loved my family. At some point in the next four minutes and 44 seconds, my second will arrive. I can only hope that there will be someone alive to read this. Someone who wasn’t given a second. Someone that surv

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