Clockwork

In this world everything is made of clockwork.
A single blade of grass pushing through the firmament for the first time is propelled onward by the conbined work of hundreds of cogs and gears.
Earthquakes are the grooves of cogs grinding against their partners, metal on metal, rock against rock, that echoes in the earth's chasms.
Lightning if the spark of two weights, rising and falling, leading white and grey clouds on metal tracks, expanding and contracting so they appear to breathe, and brushing one another in ascension.
The seasons are the ticking of hands, the flow of rivers the swing of pendulums, the position of the sun is an hour flashing on a clockface.
Timing is the key to presperity. The earth purrs with the ticking of the second hand, it's heartbeat comes every sixty minutes. The momentary halting of a heartbeat causes cataclysm, tsunamis and eruptians. The breaking apart of Pangaea, the death of the dinosaurs. When heartbeats come regularly once more, the stars follow their paths, the tide comes in and out, all is well.
Most fear a day, a specific ending. Clocks must be wound, of they will stop. When the world ceases to oscillate, what will become of it? The earth will not turn, the sun will spark and sputter and blow out like a candle, light will no longer exist. There will be no warmt. The rivers will not flow, children will not be born.
So some live in fear, hiding from the lightless future, preparing for the apocalypse. They cry at night, fearful there will be no sun in the morning. They live in shadow, scared of the sun that does not live forever. They have said their goodbyes long ago, and wait in agonizing suspense for what they are sure will be the end.
Others see the impending end as reason not to fear. They stride in the sunlight, soaking it up while they still can. They thrive in the night time, under the winking stars. They kiss everyone they meet, see their families as often as they would like to, scorn or love whomever they care. In the face of a clockless world, they sieze every moment.

Text by Lucie MacAulay