𝘛𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘈𝘸𝘢𝘺.

Disclaimer Warning.

The following story includes scenes of intense gore and death, proceed with caution.

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An evening settled among the sky of scattered clouds, peace above a small city bringing a near end to a day of business. A road streamlined with an occasional vehicle or two, sidewalks parallel to a wide variety of shops and restaurants that dawn interest to those on looking or visitors afar from town. Upon this late many have shut their doors and succumbed to darkness for this day as the concrete pathways line emptied, apart from a singular figure.

•

The boy led himself along the view of missing vendors, still dawning their goods through closed curtains as one stood out amongst others. Light gleamed through the window of such a place with a glimpse of a light shadow from now and again. Upon a few steps closer, the shop seemed to display a variety of clockwork, ranging from antique elder to new age with sizes a small fit for a pocket or large enough to consider as furniture. The flower boy stepped slowly towards a halt to view the pale faces, his singular eye tracking the different decor of each point every clock seemed to share, pointing to the exact same number. A mesmerizing effect stood place for an unknown amount of time before a sudden chime of a bell, realization of a figure by the now opened door. The figure seemed to be one of a shorter male near his late 70s, casting a wrinkled gentle gaze upon his direction before expelling a subtle chuckle of expression.

“ You can come inside y'know, son. ”

•

The older gentleman held the door out for the pale boy as he wandered in, a swirl of thoughts forming in the boy's head upon what the man called him.. Son.. An expression so familiar yet nonexistent within his knowledge. His mind dissipated upon the inside view of many other ticking machines of time, the sound of steps behind him from the returning elder as he directed towards the counter to resume his business.

“ Things ain't too busy round here, son. This ol' soul can stick around fer a moment, but I'mma be closin' real soon. ”

The gruffness of the gentleman sounded as his motions seemed to focus around organizing the space, though the boy disregarded as he stood before a wall of clocks, both figures deaf to an outside shatter of glass. The flower boy stared insistently on the moving hands with the surrounding sound of each subtle movement, his fascination lay with the matter of each tick different from the last, a constant state of moving forwards. His mind unfolded with the similarities he shared, his limbering body scattering from destination to the next without recollection of the one before. The boy remained his focus even as another figure bolted through the ringing door.

•

A male dressed in black, seemingly in mid 20s with fabric covering a portion of his nose and face below. The figure carried a backpack of sorts with the rising threat of a pistol, barrel aimed at the elder. The man had no knowledge of any stores still remaining open this night, however between an older gentleman and a boy yet to even notice, he may still manage.

“ Everything, now! ”

The older gentleman was enveloped in fear as his frailness immediately scrambled to collect bills and coins in his safety. The man stood within a few seconds upon seeing his slow movements, growing irritation before the boy's realization of the new figure. The flower boy turned himself in facing him, a wonder of what events were being played before a force grasped his neck, slamming the back of his head against the glass face of a clock now painting a web of cracks across it. The hard press of metal forced against the boy's head as bait for a faster harvesting.

“ Hurry it up old man! You got 30 seconds! ”

•

A void filled his head, vision engrossed in feigning darkness as the man kept his attention to the gathering wealth, ignorant to the growing glow of flowers adorning the boy. A force collective on his throat and barrel upon his head, filling the boy's senses not with fear, but rather anger upon a position unwanted. The boy's skin heated intensely much like a stove top as the man's hand sizzled with the metal of the gun exponentially searing. This sudden pain alerted his to let go upon both the boy and weapon, cursing under a whine of hurt, though more laid in store.

In the male's distraction, a formation of ice grew within the right hand of the boy, its formation clearing to that of a metal greatsword. Realization befallen the criminal as he held out his hand with the least pain, pleading under burned groans. With a motion fueled by irritation, his upward swipe of the large blade sent a splash of crimson, followed by the sound of a thud and yell of agony.

The severance of the hand, the male viewing the grim slice of his forearm with an extreme pain overcoming his senses. The loss of blood staining the floorboards sent his mind in nausea, forcing him to sit down with his back placed against the wall, his mix of emotions as he cried and yelled in terrorizing dread. The man looked up with tear-stained eyes as his vision warped in the nausea, the ticking of clocks like the bell tolling his day in the afterlife with the executioner standing before him with a raising blade splattered with his own misfortune. The cold gaze of the boy's single glowing eye as he stood before him with the occasional mess of crimson dawning the blade up before a slash cut his senses off completely in darkness. Another thud sounded with the roll of the criminal's head, soon the slide of his limp body, his open pack sliding out a numerous amount of expensive trinkets and cash onto the puddle of viscous red.

•

The boy's grasp upon his stained blade lessened before its existence shattered into the air like fallen snowflakes as the elder gentleman had himself hidden behind his counter. The older man peeked above at the horror he found himself witnessed as the boy stared upon his deed momentarily before expressing his words.

“ .. May you wilt under moonlight and rest with the blooming flowers.. ”

The boy's expression turned to view the peeking elder as he thought of the words to tell. Within a brief time, he then spoke.

“ .. I enjoyed the.. Clocks.. They are lovely.. ”

Without curiosity towards the elder's reaction, the boy turned to head out the door with a ringing chime upon opening. The flower boy walked amongst the ghost town of stores for a few minutes with the sounds of sirens hailing in the distance, lost in thought in his crooked walk. Perhaps he too, is ticking constantly before there is a day that ticking ceases. If so, then when would it stop? The answer can appear eventually, patience would favor it.

He can only move forward for now.