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Children of Time: The Day the Clocks Stopped Counting

February 29th, 20XX, the day the clocks all stopped counting.

You could ask anyone still alive about what they were doing and what happened, they all can simultaneously give you so many different, but similar answers.

‘I was doing X, and then someone pointed out that the clock had stopped’ is the general consensus. Of course, I might be exaggerating, since I can’t ask as many people about what happened as I could have five months ago when this all started.

All of the clocks stopped at the same time, according to my mother. I was sleeping when it officially happened, and at this point there were no clocks left to see once I was awake. A quick announcement from the president waking me up telling us to quickly get rid of the clocks later, and most of them were gone, just like that.

However, with all of the political issues, and genuine self interest, some kept their clocks. Those people are no longer themselves. Their story is probably fascinating and different from the rest, unfortunately as it stands, I can’t ask them anything. Hell, if it weren’t for online messaging, I probably wouldn’t be able to ask anyone anything.

No one is allowed to leave their homes, for one reason or another. Some in fear of what was awaiting them outside, others in fear because they knew what was outside. I was one of the few that had knowledge of the outside from information gathering, and wasn’t dumb enough to try to leave before knowing.

According to sources in different parts of the world, regardless of the time zone, after about a day of the clocks stopping, they started to move again. However, it wasn’t the hands of time that were moving, it was the clocks themselves that were moving.

Stories of neighbors, friends, even pets worshiping these clocks after the third day also started to come to my attention. Apparently anyone who had caught direct sight of them past the first day had been put into some kind of trance that made them like a cultist hivemind of some sort. I haven’t been able to see this for myself, but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t curious.

This hivemind, commonly nicknamed ‘The Children of Time’ started to look for others to add into their cult, as according to some people who had barricaded after seeing their neighbor kill their family with a grandfather clock, they seemed to be trying to get the clocks’ hands to move again, one way or another. Some of them succeeded apparently, as some cities and even states have had their COT (Children of Time) stop moving entirely, with the clocks they were using for brutality moving on their own, without electricity or anything to push the hands forward.

All of this happened within the first month, so I’ve heard, as more and more cities, states, and countries had their COT fall silent in the streets, tainted with their own family’s bloodline on their new objects of worship. Then, on April 14th, every country had their streets fall silent, briefly.

It’s assumed that every COT had completed their mission around this time, and for the next three days, the streets stood still, eerie and waiting for something to happen. It was tempting people to believe that the worst was over, and that they could return to their lives. Some believed this, and exited their homes, tearing out and some going mad after seeing the carnage outside.

April 17th, everything gets worse. According to my most reliable source, a guy, around my age, in Saudi Arabia, the minute that the days turned to the next, the COT sprung to life, with a much newer thought process, and physical form. He never disclosed any information on the new form that they had taken, since according to him, it was too surreal to describe in any human language. I’ve taken his word on this.

In terms of the actions of these new, reborn COT, they had grown much more parasitic, instead of their previous murderous mindset. They would stalk houses, streets, and any building for people still alive, and according to a girl, close to her teen years, in Hawaii, once they found any living creature, for example, this girls parents, she described that, ‘Mom and Dad were forced to eat these weird strings, and then they didn’t like me anymore.’

Now of course, a child may not be the best source, but the words speak for themselves in terms of the parasitic nature of these reborn things. There’s no number to calculate how many have been turned, and honestly that scares me most about all of this. No one can calculate the numbers, because the numbers will turn them into one of them if they tried.

That’s why I’m writing this. Currently, being stuck inside of my apartment on the top floor in the middle of Utah is the second worst situation I’ve been in, right next to living with my roommate during college. I have a lot of free time, since it will probably take the COT months to get up to the top floor, which I’m staying in.

They seem to be too large to fit inside of the apartment by themselves, and their offspring seem to be connected by that ‘weird string’ mentioned before, all connecting through the different people, so they’ll need hundreds of people to make it to me, I assume.

I don’t know if there’s any hope for humanity. Maybe this was the right course of action for us, maybe it wasn’t. All I’m stating in this are the facts of what I know, so that any future species or humans can find this and stop it from happening again, if it ever happens again.

I’ve tried for months to rationalize what happened, why it happened, who did it, and what their purpose is, but besides the obvious Aliens answer, I’ve got nothing. I’m no scientist or theoretical engineer, I’m just a college dropout who wanted to major in history.

Maybe that’s why I’m writing this. Maybe I want to be a part of history somehow. Either as a chapter in a textbook, or an epilogue for a species. Maybe from the afterlife I can see my name being written as the author of a book about humans, and the uprising of the Children of Time. Honestly, that sounds kinda cool.

For anyone who may be wondering, I’ve been surviving off of the food from the bottom floors, checking occasionally to see if any COT are at the bottom floor via the staircase. All I have to protect myself with is a stack of books, a few kitchen knives, and a will to live. For a girl that’s surviving the apocalypse, I’d say I’m in a pretty shit spot, though of course that’s probably the norm for all of the survivors out there.

I’ve been chatting with survivors through discord, trying to help the younger ones cope with all of this, and discussing strategies with the older ones. The clocks on computers have stopped working as well, but thankfully they didn’t turn anyone into COTs, yet. I’ve met so many brilliant people that logged off to try some crazy experiment, and who never logged on again. Others have given us their will, and their name, before logging off to stop themselves from becoming a COT. If there was ever a movie about this whole event, I’d want them to be included in it, so I’ll give their names here.

















Sorry if that’s kinda long, I just want all of them to be remembered. I’m just a messenger for all of them, which is one of the only things that keeps me going through this. I’m not only a survivor of a Clockpocolypse, but I also carry the burden of protecting people across the world from me, and to remember those who have fallen,

I don’t wanna sound like I’m super prideful of myself, I just want to make it clear that they matter more than I do. They’ve gone out and tried to stop this. I’m just telling some of their stories. Hopefully I can get around to writing all of them down before anything changes.

[REDACTED] was one of the first people I met, during the second month. He was so scared, but so determined to keep his family safe. The last message I ever got from him was how one of his windows had been smashed open by something, and that his parents were nowhere to be found. After that, he went to investigate.

[REDACTED] was another genius, and was actively involved in discussions about what the COT were, what they wanted, and actually gave us some sort of hope that we could figure out how to kill them. He told us that he had come up with an idea having to do with sulfuric acid, and said he was going to try and dump some onto a COT from his roof. I can only hope that it worked out.

[REDACTED] is the girl from Hawaii I talked about, and she’s one of my best friends. Everyday I help her live her life, stay as calm as possible, and give her all of the hope I have. Every night, I get into a call with her and read her a story from my collection, and assure her that one day, I’ll come rescue her and bring her somewhere safe. I’m still working on that.

Finally, [REDACTED] was someone I actually knew, who lived not so far from me. He had watched his whole neighborhood fall to the reborn COTs, and barricaded himself and his father inside. He’s been surviving off of sneaking around and scavenging from the neighbors’ houses, and he’s found tactics to avoid being detected by the COTs. I invited him to take his father over here if he ever found a way, and he said that he would get back to me on that offer.

That was a month ago. I haven’t heard from him since, and I can only assume that he tried too hard to reach me. Sometimes I feel guilty for so many of these deaths, since I keep inspiring hope into people to keep trying, maybe because I don’t want to try myself. I don’t like to think about that a lot, since I don’t want to end up becoming depressed and ending this journey. Not yet.

I’ve been steadily writing this over the months, gaining information and trying to figure out how everything fits together. Going over information with people across the globe, reading [REDACTED] bedtime stories, and thinking about why I was chosen as a survivor.

Maybe I wasn’t chosen. Maybe I was just smart. Hell if I know. A part of me fears that there’s another phase of the COTs that has yet to happen, and honestly, that thought terrifies me. I have just started to get a grasp on the COTs, and if they were to change into something more deadly, then I don’t stand a chance.

When I started writing this, I mentioned that it had been five months since the initial stop. Currently, writing this part, it’s been almost a year, probably. I’ve tried counting the days by the bedtime stories, but I might have miscounted a few times. Being stuck in the same room for a year (probably) can do that to you.

If something does happen to the COTs after the anniversary, I’ll update this. If my count has somehow been accurate until now, then tomorrow is the one year anniversary. I’ve been talking to everyone about what we should do, and we all agreed on a group book reading. I think that’ll be fun to do with [REDACTED], maybe we could teach her how to read better, since she has a bit of trouble.

I think tomorrow has the potential to be a fun day, to move away from the tragedy and horror of the last year. I’ll see how it goes, and update this if anything happens.

Recommend0 Simily SnapsPublished in All Stories, Horror

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