Fiction
The Crown and the Clock
“Time,” they say, “waits for no one.” In the twilight of his years, one man finds the crown of his legacy, while a hidden truth lingers in the shadows, threatening the future.
“C’mon, Dad, put it on.” Sarah stretches out her hand, holding the yellow party hat like an offering. “Go on, it’s just a bit of fun.”
“I don’t want to,” the old man mutters before moving his wheelchair toward the window. As he does so, his ears catch the gentle ticking of the antique clock on the mantelpiece. It had been a wedding gift, its hands tirelessly marking the passage of time through countless family gatherings and quiet evenings. The clock’s rhythmic ticking seemed to echo the heartbeat of the home, a constant reminder of moments past and those yet to come.
“Ok, have it your way,” says Sarah. “It’s your party. But please don’t disappoint the kids. They’re so excited.”
The old man stares out the window.
A child wails from the other room. Sarah sets the party hat down on the table. “Listen, I’ve got to go and get this thing started before there’s a riot.”
She turns and leaves the room to impose order on the children and the rest of the family in the living room. “Ok, everyone,” she shouts, “let’s get ready. Grampa will be here soon.”
