A clock tower stood at the center of the village, in the center of the village. But the clock did not tell the time. It told the year, the month, the day, and, well, I guess a time too. But it did not go forward; it went backward, and had gone backward for as long as I can remember. Which is pretty long, since I’m a skull.

My story, though, is not important. What is important is the story that unfolded in front of my empty eye sockets. You see, I was in luck. A teacher had found me on a hike and brought me as an educational piece, so I can see the clock from the window where I am currently perched, and I can hear the children tell the tale.

Kids always know what’s going on. They listen with fresh ears to the adults, and the adults assume they don’t know what’s going on, but I assure you, they know all.

The counting down of the clock had always been so, and so no one took any notice of it, till a few days before it would chime. Someone happened to look up and see that it was getting awfully close. Although, to be fair, it was a tricky thing to decipher. The sphere had old, worldy-type of runes on it, and it stood hundreds of feet tall. You gotta really crank your neck to look up. The pendulum itself was much more interesting, the way it swayed to and fro. They had to put some of that posh, universal VIP red rope around it, because often people would get hypnotized by it and forget they were walking closer and closer, then…

BAM

Death by giant pendulum to the face. Obviously that’s not how I died, because those people’s skulls would be a mess afterwards. You can tell by looking at me that some part of my body was at fault for my, um, situation.

Anyway, this giant, looming clock was essentially an attractive nuisance, as they say in the legal circles. But no one quite remembers what the clock was for. Obviously, it was some type of reminder, right? Why else would you build such a thing? But was it to remind us that the world was ending? Or maybe some elaborate person’s birthday? Maybe that was the day everyone would forget to wear pants. Nobody could remember.

A lot of initial time was wasted trying to find out. There were librarians with books, and old men with scrolls. Some circles were consulting small cards with pictures on them. Others were talking about maybe chatting to those outside the walls, in the rest of Vertex. Or maybe find out if someone across the bridge knew in Artizan. But it was decided that the matter should stay within the space of the town, even though its implications could have affected the whole country, or even potentially the world.

A council was eventually brought together to think of ways to deal with the clock. Pretty much everyone could agree that a tall, mysterious clock had nothing good to do but result in some type of disaster. Instead of figuring out what that disaster was and then having it happen to them, they decided to create a task force. A small team to deal with the matter. Once they handed over the dilemma, then they could return back to the real matters, which were matters that concerned them and them only. As was the way people’s brains worked. Why would they want to deal with the obviously difficult task of finding out the purpose of some old clock device, when instead they could have tea and discuss the importance of what type of biscuit to have with said tea?

Unless you are American, in which case it would be a cookie selection. But if you are American, I would just like to interject here and point out that even if we switch it from biscuit to cookie for you, it would be a cookie that was cooked all the way through and has some crunch to it, as that is the proper way. Not the soft, half-baked dough that is served in your world. This is my world. Our cookies have crunch.

But who would be selected for such a small task force? Well, it was obvious to the council that someone who was very grounded should be the first person selected. A person who has common sense and an understanding of great logic. They should have their feet firmly on the ground, or even in the mud, as some might say.

So, obviously, a gardener was chosen. A man by the name of Bill.

The next to be selected would have to be a person of high energy, who could juggle multiple items at once and be firm, to the point of being cocky. The local cook was chosen, called Rammi.

Then a numbers person. Because, well, the clock had numbers. There was a countdown. To understand all of that type of thing would require a person who understood that kind of numerology. An accountant by the name of Dave was pulled out of a hat.

Last but not least, they needed someone who knew what was going on. Who had an understanding of events and of people. Who was well-versed in the way of storytelling, because this would be an adventure. So, Lydia was chosen, as she gossiped the most.

Four seemed a good number; therefore, the council stopped there. Also, it was getting rather late for their brunch, and they were promised a mimosa at half-price as part of a “Happy Hour for Council Members.” The task team was collected and thanked for their service, as they left to go enjoy themselves.

Bill, Dave, Rammi and Lydia all stood in a slightly awkward silence as they had never really met each other before, although Lydia, having been in the inner circles of all the really good ones for most of her life, knew exactly who each other person was and what their deepest dark secret was.

But even though she knew that, she didn’t understand why, on such an occasion, Rammi only had one sock on. When she inquired, Rammi muttered something about Toshi’s, and they all nodded in agreement.

Toshi’s, if you didn’t know, were small, furry beasts, and stole your socks. Usually the left one. The first order of the task force was to be in agreement that Toshi was an incredibly annoying sock thief, and they all agreed to it.

The next order of business was to figure out how to deal with the end of the world, which was, to be sure, a rather large escalation.