The Face of a Clock

It’s just a clock. Erato tried to drill it into his brain as he stood over the device, watching the second hand gently tick its way across the face- reminding him just how long he had been standing there, paralyzed by discomfort and indecision. Of course, it wasn’t just a clock- it was everything his venture symbolized. It would be dramatic to say there was no turning back from this- of course, he could simply stop at any point. But to take the first step is an action he could never undo- a curiosity that would never be folded neatly and tucked away again. 

Before the eruption, Erato had a team for this. He was frequently getting upgrades, replacements, cosmetic changes- he couldn’t even recall if he had any original parts left from his creation. He never did anything himself, of course. That was dangerous, and he never quite cared to get his hands dirty in that regard. There were others much more capable than he in those times. 

There were scant few bots these days who were knowledgeable or comfortable enough to perform anything other than routine maintenance or simple cosmetic changes. Erato wanted…he wasn’t actually sure what he wanted. Something… deeper? There was something gnawing at him from the inside out, and there was seemingly no amount of troubleshooting that could tell him what was actually wrong. There had to be something wrong. Finally, he had decided to take matters into his own hands. 

That brought him back here, standing in front of the easiest thing he could even begin to practice on. Wrangling some amount of nerve, Erato flipped the clock on its face and quickly removed the battery pack, silencing the soft ticking. The sudden lack of noise in the room was deafening… but the first hurdle was behind him. 

Every step after that became easier. Removing the backing, taking careful note of the layout, ever so carefully pulling each component out. At one point Erato had to step away from his work to find some sort of container to set the delicate parts into. He nearly ran as he searched, scared to leave his project out of his sight for too long- as if it would spontaneously combust while he was less than 200 feet away. 

It took time- he couldn’t say how long. Erato had no routine to miss, no companions' behaviour to reference, no pets to feed or otherwise take care of. He could look outside, perhaps, but it truly didn’t matter, anyhow. When the indeterminate amount of time had passed, and Erato felt he had completed his task, he took a step back to review his work. 

There were a few grease smears around the table between small piles of gears and parts. Erato had ultimately decided to sort the parts based on layer as opposed to visual similarity. He knew that just because they looked the same did not mean they were anywhere near compatible. After looking everything over, he realized he could go deeper. Yes, he took the obvious pieces apart, but there were pieces made up of even smaller parts as well. He should know the complete ins and outs, shouldn’t he?

He started with the casing, popping out the plastic dome that protected the clock face. Next, he unscrewed the bolt securing the clock hands, ever so careful to not bend the delicate metal. A buzzing feeling filled his head as he worked. There was something… different about this step. It felt oddly intimate. Yes yes, the whole act of taking apart another machine was intimate; if Erato thought about it too hard he felt his coolant start flowing faster. 

This was the visual, though. What he was changing, dismantling, was what the clock presented to the world. To Erato, this was the most important piece to what made the machine what it was. Yes, the internal mechanism made it function, told the hands when to move and in what directions, but without the hands themselves or the face of the clock to give meaning to the motions… it simply was just gears turning for the sake of it. 

After the housing was dismantled, he turned to the larger conglomerates. Erato did not think too hard about his ultimate goal. He did not think about his wants, his drive, the feeling of rust in his chassis, the feeling of frustration when that man kept looking away- he did not think too hard about it. 

Finally, he came down to parts simply too small and too delicate to dismantle further. It was then that Erato took a step back once again to examine the work. Through whatever undetermined length of time, the once clean and organized table had become covered in grease smears and small containers, piles of components and tools. It felt wrong to have done this. It felt right to have done this. That was the easy part, though. Taking things apart is all well and good, but would he be able to put it back together? 

It’s just a clock, he told himself.