The Watch

My mother used to call me a dreamer, but I was more accustomed to nightmares. I'd wake in all hours of the night, never fully remembering what I saw, just certain that there was something coming for me. Later in life, this nightmare grew. As I explored the world, I experienced the dream to a greater extreme. No matter where I was on the globe, I saw the same flaming buildings, heard the same screams, and smelled the same charred ash and blood.

Of course, you can't live your life in fear. That's what my mom always told me. She'd sit at the edge of my bed and place my father's gold watch in my hands. Winding the dial idly always soothed me from those dreams. I'd never known my father, but Mom made sure I knew that he was the one who'd pulled me from our blazing home when I was just a baby. The smoke and the burns were what killed him, but he'd left me with one precious memento, this watch.

Mom tried to explain that these dreams stemmed from my trauma. I agreed. It was natural, and it was easier to believe that than feeling like the dreams were something beyond. I'd always tried to have a normal life despite the sweat-drenched sheets. I love to travel, so I became a journalist. I love food, so I became a critic. I have had every opportunity to live out my dreams, and now it seems... my nightmares.

When I awoke from last night's rendition of the apocalypse, something was different. I only vaguely recalled the image, but I was certain it was a little boy who stepped from the flames and pressed something into my hand. It was the pain that woke me. It felt like he'd taken an iron to my skin.

Turning on the hotel lamp, I half glimpsed at my hand, almost expecting to see something. In fact, the words burned into my flesh made me leap. I held my hand to the light and sure enough, seared there was the message, seven days.

I could not cope. What was this warning? Seven days left? Seven days ago? I so wanted to remember what I'd seen in my nightmares over the last week, but nothing came to mind. All I could think about was getting this shit off of my hand!

I ripped open the shower curtain, dislodging a few of the pegs. I stripped my shirt and pants. In my hurry, I forgot to test the waters, and the icy flow poured goose pimples all over me. There I was, naked and shivering, staring at my scarred hand in disbelief, wondering what was expected of me.

I scrubbed at the message to no avail. All that wore away were the edges where my blistered skin curled up. The pain was too severe.

"Why me?" I asked the showerhead. What am I supposed to do with this information? I wasn't crazy enough to think I had a shot at saving the world from devastation, so why choose an ordinary kid to scare his entire life, only to give him the final countdown?

It all started to dawn on me then. That was what this was all about. The hellish dreams, the constant terror, it was in preparation for this day. I'd spent my entire life running from my dreams, hoping that the next country would hide me from this day. Now, in the slowly heating shower of a 2 star hotel, I felt the weight of the world's end raining down upon me.

I couldn't hold on to this fear. I had lived 28 years decidedly dodging those things that go bump in the night. If I could ignore my night-terrors, I could ignore their 3 dimensional extensions. I donned my father's watch and groomed myself for the day. Of course, there were bags under my eyes from a lack of sleep, and my skin was pale, but I was determined to go about the day as usual.

Except, something truly was different as I stepped out onto the New York winter street. I pulled my collar up against the wind and headed to the newest kitchen I was critiquing. Every face I passed seemed to be lost in a daze. Every person on the street, or in their cars looked pale and fatigued, like they'd lost sleep too. Maybe it's just Monday.

It was only when I entered the restaurant and handed my coat to the hostess, that I noticed her hand too. The burn there matched my own. I felt a wave of nausea engulf us both. When I looked up at her, she panicked and bolted out the front door. I had to know if there was anyone else. The chef came to shake my hand, looking like a lost bulldog with is heavy, quivering jowls. I grasped his hand without a word and flipped it to reveal yet again, seven days.

When our eyes met, I could see tears leaking onto his grubby face. All I could think about was saving myself. I let him go and backed out of the kitchen. On the street, people were coming to the same realization as we were. Cars were parked mid-street with their drivers comparing palms. Pedestrians were shedding their gloves in disbelief.

I grabbed a nearby stranger and asked him flat out, "what did you dream about last night?"

Shocked, he stammered, "I- I don't remember. There was... a child and he... he burned me."

So that was it, not a message for myself, but for all mankind. This child was bringing us the end. I felt powerless, except to call my mom, hoping maybe she was unaffected out in the Massachusetts countryside. The phone's hollow ring bore into me. Even my mother's sweet voice seemed distant and afraid.

"Sam? Where are you? Are you safe?"

"Hi Mama, yeah. I'm okay, just a bit shaken up. Tell me..."

"Yes I have the mark too." She read my thoughts.

Tears popped from the corners of my eyes. I sat down on the edge of the sidewalk.

"There's nothing to be sad about, Sam. The angel delivered this message to me, just like she did for you."

"How can you know that? There was so much chaos in the dream. How can you know that it was an angel?"

"God has given us an opportunity to live in harmony for one more week. Just like the beginning, he's going to reverse his creation and take us all back into the kingdom."

Something about her words soothed me, but I could not shake the disquiet. "Now Sam, I think you need to come home. We should be together."

"Yes. I know you're right. But, wait... Mama, what did the angel look like to you?"

"Oh, she was tall and straight. Her wings were twice her height, all white. She used a feather from her own back to write me that beautiful message."

None of this added up. Why had some seen the angel, while others seen the boy? Was this some sort of Judgment Day? I made my way back to my hotel. All the while, the city seemed to sink deeper into chaos. The streets were crammed with cars, people trying to get a million different places at once. Families were wandering in and out of the buildings, all with backpacks and warm clothes on.

I realized that trying to escape to the country was futile, the freeways would be completely clogged. So, back at the hotel, I let myself into the room and sat down on the bed, just watching the world roiling with hopes and prayers.

I was exhausted. I’d been so since I woke up this morning. I saw no reason to rush into the corral, so I flopped back on the double bed and slept. In no time at all I was into a dream, even with my boots still on and my dad’s watch.

On the other side of my eyes, a curious scene began to play out. There was a garden before me with huge, robust trees, massive vegetables, and jaw-dropping flowers. Everywhere I stepped, my feet met soft moss. Birds twittered lazily in the trees. Animals meandered here and there, sampling the flora. The smell was so pure and alive, it was as if I could be sustained by the air itself.

There was a group of six children running in between some apple trees. Each child was beautiful beyond words, with fine features and flowing hair. They were calling out, playing tag. A solitary child sat a ways away from the others. He held something in his hands. I was moving towards him, and he looked up as I drew nearer. When I bent to see what he was hiding, I saw it was a dead dove, its neck twisted back.

“I didn’t want to kill it,” sobbed the boy.

“It’s okay,” I tried to say.

“No,” the child started to shake, “you don’t understand. They think I killed it on purpose.” The child stood up with the little bird hanging from his hands. He looked directly at me. For the first time, I recognized him. A bead of fear ran down my spine. The boy said, “They think I’m evil.”

In that moment, the dove caught fire spontaneously. The white feathers blackened and wilted and revealed the tiny muscles and bone beneath. The boy screamed and let go, dropping the creature. Instantly, the roots and moss around us were alight, as if they’d been doused in gasoline. Soon everything in sight was burning.

Screams from the other children came in all directions. I scanned around saw that some had tried to climb the trees, only to become trapped in the blaze. The others must have tried to outrun the fire, they were already on the ground, consumed in the conflagration. Only the boy and I were unscathed. I looked into his eyes and could see the shock. His skin was pale and his mouth drawn in a grimace.

I asked him, “did you mean for this to happen?"

He shook his head.

I stretched my fingers, trying to find a way to help. Absent mindedly, I reached for my watch and spun the crown. In the same moment, the tallest flames retreated and whatever leaves and bark they’d touched were returned to life. The boy and I exchanged looks of disbelief. I wound even further back and, yes, more of the damage was reversed. The children that had been reduced to ash, were reconstituted and alive once more. They were moving as if in a spell, completely reliant on the hands of my watch. In one fluid motion, the flaming bird lifted back to the boy’s hands, and extinguished itself. Looking at the dial, I saw that I’d only saved us a few minutes.

“How long has the bird been dead?” I asked.

“I can’t remember… an hour?”

I spun back an hour and sure enough, we watched the children playing gaily, until at one point they were congregated around our tree, watching with disapproving eyes. Their shouts came out backwards as I slowly twisted time. Finally, we watched the bird itself fall back to the sky and the rock that hit it thudded back into the child’s right hand.

“Can you… can you keep going?” asked the boy earnestly.

I looked around and saw that all was right again, “I don’t think I should…”

“Please,” he begged. “There is so much I need to take back. Can’t you just try?”

“No,” I frowned, “who knows what other consequences this could have.”

I released the crown and watched as time seemed to pick up where it left off. Except, the boy did not throw that fatal stone. Instead, he held it in his hands like an idol. When he turned to me again he was smiling. He grasped my hand and placed the stone to my palm. I felt something calling me away, and let myself be pulled back to the waking world.

Flat on my back with my legs out, I woke to the familiar feeling of chill and stiffness. None of the garden remained, but neither did the hotel room. I was lying on a slate rock, with forest all around. In all directions, only trees, grasses and rock engulfed me. My heart jumped. There wasn’t even a shred of manmade waste, a hint of humanity no matter where I looked. I ran north without thinking and still saw no one.

Sitting once more on a stone, I tried to come to terms with what had happened. Perhaps I’d affected more than just the dream world. I tried the crown of my watch again, twisting it forward this time. Nothing happened except the natural movement of sun through sky.

On my hand, there no longer was a seven day countdown. Only the memory endured. Nothing I recognized was here anymore either and I was left with the understanding. The true cost of saving the planet was to set it back before the fall.