I sat reading in Father’s bedchamber, ready to attend to his needs if he woke which was no longer expected. He had been bedridden for many years, and in a discomfort that doctors were unable to relieve. Father’s death was thought imminent.

On a shelf opposite the bed was a complex and beautiful clock in ebony with gold inlay, with 5 hands and several rings of numbers. When I was young, Father reluctantly showed me how to read it. He handled the clock almost never and had remarked on several occasions that he should put it out of sight but he never did.

After an hour or so, Father suddenly relaxed and was at peace. Simultaneously, the clock began to chime, which I had never known it to do. The hands were aligned and had stopped moving.

Shortly, the clock fell silent once again. Having confirmed Father’s passing, I made to leave the room, inadvertently brushing against the clock as I departed. It reset itself, 12:156:17:11:37, and began counting down the span of the remainder of my life.