Tick Tock

My husband and I had just had sex in front of the fire. We lay on the floor of the sitting room, limbs entangled, sweaty, spent and contented. I lay with my head on his chest. I listened to the steady beat that sounded within. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. It was exactly as it had been only five minutes previously, when he’d clawed at my skin in expectant relief; and I knew it would be exactly the same, five minutes later, when he’d roll gently towards the verge of sleep. Tick tock. Tick Tock. Precise, constant, never-changing, a fact that is and would always be. I brought my hand up to my own chest, pressing it hard against the bone, fighting to find the mechanics therein. I could almost touch its angular precision.
I could see the sky through the window. The light had turned her back on the day and had started to walk towards sunset.
— What time is it? My husband asked lazily into the crevasse of my neck.
— I don’t know, I said, dislodging him gently, raising myself up on one hand and turning the radio dial with the other. Our old radio fizzled a bit before pulling its waves together. A familiar voice invaded the room – booming, avuncular, certain.
THE TICK MUST TOCK, it said. THE TIME IS– But the announcement was drowned out by a siren that screamed from the street below. Another contamination. My husband groaned and rolled over on his back. I got up and stepped over him. I found my skirt sharing secrets with the leg of the couch. I caught his T-Shirt eavesdropping. I pulled it out from hiding and threw it at him.
— Hurry, I said, they’ll have seen the light.
We got dressed clumsily and made our way down into the street. There was a thick mixture of annoyance, curiosity, excitement and resignation, slathered all over the congregated crowd. I remember counting more than ten CLOCKHEADS overseeing the proceedings. Their boots were polished and the last of the sun reflected off their round, flat faces which told of nothing but time. The usual black box was positioned in the middle of the crowd. It amplified the sonic realm and a chorus of tick tocks sounded in the evening air. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. The corps leader shouted into a megaphone. I knew, we all knew, what the announcement would be. My husband and I had heard it twice before.

The crowd raised their hands to the back of their heads and gradually an absolute silence descended on the gathered masses. Except of course for the pulse – warm, curvaceous, living yet frightened to death, pounding hard and fast against an unyielding sternum. Everybody looked to each other. Blame abounded. My husband found my hand, straying by my side, hanging limp and lost. He held it tight and we both willed the moment to end. It was unbearable; we looked at the ground, the pulse of another weighed down upon us like a truth deprived of light.
A CLOCKHEAD at the rear of the crowd, confirmed that the source of the pulse. It had been isolated. We shuffled sideways as the corps leader forged past. He was met by four CLOCKHEADS, holding down a yelping dog, spread-eagled on its back. The leader kneeled before the dog. Steadily, he detached the big hand from his face and raising it high above his head, the CLOCKHEAD brought it down hard. It pierced the dog’s heart and the pulse slowly faded. We knew it would.

Time is predictable. The Tick must Tock.

Ailbhe Keogan is the author of the novel Molly & the Cyclops, published by Hag’s Head Press. Her first screenplay, Run and Jump, will be directed and produced by Oscar-nominated team, Steph Green and Tamara Anghie in association with Samson Films. The script was selected as one of twelve to take part in the 2010 Berlinale Talent Campus Script Station and as one of only five projects for the Sundance Institute’s June 2010 lab. Ailbhe is currently developing a second feature-length screenplay with Steph Green for the Advanced Party II scheme.