Where once there had been lush forests, streams, and the constant chitter of wildlife, there was now only an empty expanse. The ground was laid bare, cracked and dusty, as an unrelenting sun burnt down.
The weathered man sat on a rock, surveying the scene, hands clasped tightly, elbows propped on knees. It felt like he’d been here a long time. He wasn’t even sure where here was anymore. This place felt like a whole other world to him now.
He slowly relaxed his hands and stared at the pocket watch that he held within them. Time had not been kind. A mosaic was formed by the scratches that adorned the surface, and one edge had been dented inwards creating a gap in the casing. Pressing hard on the catch, the old man forced the watch open, glaring down at it. The pocket watch hadn’t been opened in a long while and a thick layer of dust coated the glass. The weathered man’s haggard face gently softened as he continued to gaze downwards, no longer seeing the watch.
A single droplet landed on the lens of the timepiece.
The maternity ward shook again. Nurses in the break room were chattering; no one could remember a storm as bad as this, and several of them had taken shelter from hurricanes before now. The woman screamed again as another contraction racked her body, her husband standing beside her, useless, bobbing on the balls of his feet.
He didn’t know what to do with his hands and repeatedly found himself twisting them over each other. They’d told him he would be needed to dab his wife’s forehead, help to keep her calm, comfort her. But she’d brushed him away angrily some time ago and seemed intent on doing this without his help. As he watched the doctors rushing around and panicking, he couldn’t help but glance out of the window and, as the storm raged, harbour a peculiar feeling that this was only the beginning.
The day of his son’s third birthday was a happy occasion for the man. The sun had come out despite the weatherman insisting they were in for rain, and his wife had arranged a party for their son with several of his friends from pre-school. But it was more than just the festivities: the man was pleased that the day had come at all. He still woke up dripping in sweat sometimes, remembering that night in the maternity ward as the storm wore on outside. The doctor telling him that his son had been born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck and that there was a risk he wouldn’t survive. Waiting to hear what would happen had been one of his toughest trials; he was left on the side-lines, limp and useless, watching the storm burn out before he finally got the all clear from the doctors.
Looking at his son now, you would never have known. He was running around the garden in that slightly staggery way that young children do. He and the other kids were playing some sort of game, he wasn’t sure what, but his wife seemed to have everything under control.
His son had been clutching a soft toy dog to his chest all day, and the game didn’t seem to encourage him to let it go at all. It was his birthday present and he didn’t want it out of his grasp. His wife would probably tuck him in later, still holding it.
Realising that his glass was empty, he turned to head back inside and get a refill. As he placed his hand on the doorknob, he heard two noises that made him tense and turn, the glass dropping from his hand. Looking back, he could never be sure which noise happened first, but logically it must have been the thunder clap. The second noise was his son releasing an ear-rending wail.
As rain began to pelt down from the sky, the race was on to get the children inside and safe. Before his glass had even hit the floor, it seemed his wife had their crying son up in her arms and was rushing for the house. A few of the parents that had accompanied their children were doing much the same. He saw one boy still standing out there, holding his son’s stuffed dog. His son must have dropped it when the thunder hit and this boy had picked it up to keep it safe. He hurried over and ushered the boy inside, taking the toy from him. It would need drying now.
It was the day of his son’s graduation and he sat in the audience alone. The man was overjoyed to see his son up there, but felt lost without his wife beside him. He wished that she had lived to see this day. She’d passed away a few years before and his son had taken it hard; grades that were already low fell further. Between keeping the bills in check and dealing with the loss himself he hadn’t known what to do for his child.
Yet, in this past year his son had managed to pull things together, his grades had gone from below average to well above it and he had a string of potential prospects ahead of him. Outside of academia, he had become a much more personable character as well; the man now found it a pleasure to talk to him, and between them they’d managed to pull their small family back together. He wasn’t really sure what had caused the change, but as he sat here today, full of pride, he didn’t find that it mattered. The sun was warm, but eased with a cool breeze that carried the scent of fresh blooms. It felt like the first proper summer in years and as if they might be free of the storm now.
It was the young man’s twenty-fifth birthday. He sat in an expensive restaurant, his girlfriend opposite him, her straight raven-black hair falling past an angelic smile to the dark skin of her shoulders. They’d got together about a year before his graduation. What she saw in him back then he wasn’t sure; he was a wreck, trying to deal with things that he didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. She’d helped him with it, and together they had curbed the issue and were en route to having it under control. He played his fork nervously around his food, stealing glances between his girlfriend and the window, where a strangely early snowfall was coming down.
He started as he found her fingers unexpectedly on his. He looked up at her over the candle and saw her eyes etched with concern.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Oh. It’s nothing,’ he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.
‘Hmm. I don’t believe you, but fine.’ She watched the snow fall past the window for a moment and twitched her lips at him. ‘Here.’ She reached down to her bag and pulled out a small box, placing it on the table and pushing it towards him. ‘Happy birthday.’
He eyed the package curiously, and placed his fork on his plate, food now far from his mind. Easing open the box, he found a bundle of bubble wrap inside. Rolling it out exposed an elegant silver pocket watch, exquisitely decorated and polished to a high sheen. He tilted it slightly, watching the way it reflected the light, an odd smile playing around his lips. He clicked the release and it sprung open easily. The dial was beautiful in its simplicity and the inscription on the inside of the case gave him the courage he needed for what he did next.
‘Thank you. As it happens, I have something for you as well.’
‘Don’t be silly, it’s your birthday, you don’t have to—Oh.’
The young man had taken a small box from his pocket and was now kneeling before her in the middle of the restaurant.
After the meal they went for a walk in the fresh snow, the sky now clear, the moon shining out as a beacon.
There was an earthquake that night.
By the time that he was in his middle age, the man had managed to take control of his life, and his emotions. His wife stood beside him in a small desert village, holding his hand tightly as the villagers gathered expectantly. The two of them had set up a charity together, succeeding in turning the man’s greatest weakness into his greatest strength and making a real difference in the world.
The sun was scorching here and the ground underfoot crackled as he shifted his weight. They hadn’t seen rain here in months and the drought had left many dead from dehydration and starvation, not to mention the havoc wreaked by fires. The people in front of him had been receiving care packages and now stood waiting, curious as to who these people were. They didn’t look like the ones they were used to.
He reached into his pocket and took out his watch. With care, it had survived the past fifteen years moderately unscathed. A couple of scratches here and there, but purely superficial damage to the design. He clicked it open, focussing on the second hand as he felt his wife squeeze tighter at his fingers. He closed his eyes and took in a slow, deep breath, leaning his head backwards. Memories flashed through his mind: his mother lying in a hospital bed, tubes and wires seeming to be the only thing keeping her alive; the sound of her last rattling breath; the look on his father’s face as he stood over him while he clutched his mother’s motionless hand.
It was the rumble of thunder that brought his eyes open again, and moments later cool drops were falling against his face. It rained for three days, and it took two of those for the villagers to stop celebrating.
The night of the car crash the old man was sitting in a restaurant he’d been to many times before. It was always in celebration. The management had changed several times over in the past forty years and a different name was painted above the door, but they had the same red tablecloths and the same candles burning on the tables. As he waited, he wondered whether it would be going too far to see snow outside the window again. Would that be deemed irresponsible? Yes, probably. That sort of thing had seemed okay back when he was younger and didn’t understand the connection properly; didn’t understand the hazardous effects that could be caused on an environment by such messing around. No, now he made sure that if there was a risk, it was a risk worth taking. He’d drenched droughts, halted floods, and even tamed a hurricane or two. It seemed he owed some reparation for the damage he had done as a teenager when his rampant emotions were left unchecked. But that was all in the past, and it was there thanks to the woman he was waiting for now. Her raven-black hair might now be well streaked with grey, but that angelic smile was still ever-present.
She’d be here soon. He wouldn’t bother her with a phone call; it would only slow her down. This thought had only just left his mind when his phone began to buzz.
The hospital room seemed like some cruel parody of his past. He could almost see his mother lying there again, but managed to shake the image away as he fell into the chair beside the bed, leaning forward and clutching at her hand. It was warm, and as he touched it her eyes flickered open to stare up at him. He could see the pain in them, some of it physical, some the same emotional pain that he was working his best to keep in check. She tilted her head up to the window, seeing that a clear sky was letting moonlight filter into the room. She turned back to him, that smile tugging its way back onto her face.
‘Well done,’ she managed, scarily quietly.
‘Sorry, sir,’ came a voice from the door, ‘we have to take her into surgery now.’
A couple of orderlies came in and began wheeling her out, her hand slowly drifting away from his as he was left sitting alone. Hoping.
The second hand seemed to pause for breath after every tick, and watching it was starting to drive him crazy. It felt as if he’d been sitting in this waiting room for days with no end in sight. He just cradled the watch in his hands, glaring at its slow progress and trying to keep all of his emotional focus on it.
There was a paced echo of footsteps and a pair of feet appeared in the top of his vision. He slowly looked up to see the doctor’s face, professionally passive as it gave a well-rehearsed shake. The man looked back at the pocket watch. The second hand didn’t seem to move at all anymore. He watched the tips of his fingers pale as they pressed harder and harder against the watch. It was becoming more of a struggle to keep the focus where it needed to be. He put his hand down to look for his wife’s but, as he turned, he found her absent—of course.
As water welled in his eyes, a swallow managed to fight its way down his throat before he let out a roar of anger. It was unfair; she never did a thing wrong and now wasn’t her time. He needed it to not be her time.
Ripping the watch chain from his clothes he threw the timepiece forwards with all the might he could muster. The doctor ducked out of the way just in time, darting to what he must have thought was a safe distance. The watch ricocheted off the wall with a painful clunk before hitting the floor and scuffing along to lie still.
Then the floor began to shake. People were running towards the exit with no idea what was happening as the old man rose and took measured steps to the watch. The walls creaked as the wind pounded against them, and through the window only darkness could be seen. He bent down to pick up the watch as a deafening crack ripped the roof away and his hair was whipped around by the gusts.
He walked out of the building before the sudden weather change finally tore it to the ground. The watch was still squeezed tight in his hand. He wasn’t ready to let go yet.
He travelled for a long time after that, always on foot and never staying in one place long. Disaster dogged his footsteps and he left nothing but desolate wastes behind him. The earthquakes, the storms, the merciless heat that wouldn’t let anything fresh grow: it was a deadly combination. He didn’t know how long he’d travelled, but it felt as if he’d been walking for years. Eventually, he came to a place he guessed he’d been before. He didn’t recognise it, but only a dry, cracked, and dusty wasteland was visible from the hill he stood on, the unrelenting sun he had left behind still burning the ground. Spying a rock, he dropped down on it and sat surveying the scene, elbows on knees, the pocket watch still clasped tightly in his hands.
Relaxing his grip on the timepiece he stared at it again. He hadn’t opened it since he had thrown it at the wall in the waiting room, and he felt a pang of pain as he looked again at the dent he had left in it. With a strain, he opened it now, glaring at the dust-covered face. His eyes caught the inscription once more; he had first read it the day he turned twenty-five, just before he proposed to the woman who gave it to him. As he read it again, his eyes softened and a single drop appeared on the lens. He wiped the tear from the watch, smudging the dusty surface, working at it until it was clear again. He let his breath out and, steadily, it began to rain.
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