#ıdkwtfısthıs

[diaryofanaddictedghoul]

Death and Mr. Cloackwork

Chapter One; Try one

Mr. Clockwork battered his knuckles on the now excuse of a keyboard, his thoughts all a mush and his eyesight worse than ever. “Dumbfuck manager! Dumbfuck!” lifting his head to take a peek at the clock, Mr Clockwork started swinging his clenched fists into the air, jumping up and down, looking no more than a child having a tantrum. “Am I a fucking stallion?! Do I have the might of a missile up my ass!?” Banging his head right on the table, a loud crack from his glasses followed the shriek of his shattering coffee-filled mug. He sighed, lifted his head to take a peek at the clock,

In his thirty pathetic years of life, he had never felt more miserable.

He was certain he couldn’t lift himself off the table, his body wouldn’t let him nor did the never-ending bickering inside his mind. It was already five in the morning, the air was colder inside his makeshift apartment, and the novel review he should have finished a few hours ago wasn’t done. The author of the Novel, maniac that he was, wrote more than six hundred pages all filled with grammatical mistakes and sentences that didn’t even make sense. The story was the life-changing work of a grade-schooler. Everything made less sense inside his mind, he knew he should have to lift his head and get his fingers working. Though how could he, if nothing made sense? His head was too heavy to budge, his fingers unmoving and cold like a corpse. The mist of the incense burner’s fresh scent got more and more poisoned with the forgotten cigarette in the ashtray Mr Clockwork left in the corner on the desk.

Cigarette, his cat, budged its little head rapidly on the man’s sprawled-out knees, its chatters loud and annoying. He could finish this work by tomorrow, he could reward himself with some nice food, and he might even have the chance to do absolutely nothing, the thought of it was just so sweet the ecstasy it brought him tingled on his fingertips. Cracking his neck side to side he finger-combed the black strands of hair out of his eyesight, a desperate measure taken to relieve the stringing pain in his eyes. Any other press of a letter on the keyboard was followed by the ticking of the clock getting louder and louder, to the point where it felt like he was trapped inside a massive church bell, being used as a clapper. Supposing to lessen the annoying noise of the clock on the far wall he slapped his palm on one of his ears, making it worse than better.

Now the church bell was inside of his head, crashing from one lobe to another. He felt his insides churn in devastation and annoyance, all the leftover food he had feasted on a few hours ago climbed its way upon his throat, making him gag on the smoke-stifled air inside the room. He clenched his teeth tighter, his fingers transformed into punching the keys then jabbing them. He was a stubborn man after all, even if it meant death to him he was going to finish this piece of bull-shit work, to stuff it right back up the author’s throat. He was going to make that smug peacock of a man gag on his own words he just needed some more time and he would be done.

“Clawd Clockwork.” A voice as near as it’s far away, climbed onto Clockwork, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Mr. Clockwork turned his head to the closest place he thought the voice came from. His moves were strained, slow even. He punched holes in his will and begged any god that was determined to hear him once to not empty his guts right on the stranger inside his house. It wouldn’t be completely unwarranted, as he didn’t remember inviting anybody to his house, quite the opposite it would be deserving of the man he supposed was in his living room as he was sure he heard his name being called. There was a possibility of him just going mad out of exhaustion, which was much more believable, and probably cleverer however chances were chances. He didn’t have any plans on tempting faith tonight.

“Who is it?” He slowly turned his head back and forth, scanning the place as detailed as he could without getting on his feet.

“You’re quite the lethargic one. No wonder you ended up like this.”

“Excuse me?” His voice strained in annoyance, lifting a brow up he scanned the room again with his eyes to find nothing.

“Such a lazy human.”

“Mr. intruder.” Clockwork chittered, getting up from his desk on wobbly legs, grabbing the glass ashtray as he hid his hands back shielding his almighty weapon of burned-out cigarettes and ash. “Mind showing yourself before bitch-talking me, will you?”

A mist of black smoke gathered behind him, the air getting colder and uncomfortable. A thick and gutted voice of a man whispered behind him, low and despite the situation calmly. “Lazy and foul-mouthed, such a grotesque combination.” The voice of the man looming behind him resembled the voice of a pitiful shriek, like a thousand voices writhing in pain with the comforting humming in its tone. Clockwork spun his body around, swinging his arm with all his strength aiming to crash the ashtray onto the mysterious man’s head right on. The tray crashed onto the man’s neck, shattered into a thousand pieces piercing into Clockwork’s palm, and then wandered off the man’s broad shoulder like a pile of sand.

The man now looming in front of him was taller than he anticipated, his gloomy figure all wrapped up in silk dark in colours, with his face tucked in the shadows of his hood. His aura scattered danger. His instincts told him to turn around and bolt, all the voices inside his head telling him to get out of there, away from the intruders looming aura. His fingers twitched and his weight fell heavy on his numb legs. Clockwork stood frozen on his ground, blood trickled down his wounded palm onto the man’s cloak. “Clawd Clockwork.” The man stood unfazed, unbothered even. “Your time has come. In the name of heaven and hell, I come to assist you to the end of your destiny.”

Clockwork kept his frozen gaze up on the man’s hooded figure, the churning of his guts surprisingly getting worse and food pilling up on his tongue as he swallowed down god knows what in a shameful attempt to just not barf all over the lunatic in front of him.

“Are you missing some nails on the wood?”

“…”

Retrieving his hand Clockwork’s gaze wandered around the room “You break into my house, call my name -which ı have doubts about how you know it-, claim yourself to be the Uber driver of hell and now what again?” Clockwork mocked death like an all-too-knowing middle schooler. “which asylum did you escape from dude?” Death huffs, amused towards the man’s ignorance. “You’re a feisty soul, Clawd Clockwork. However, I do not have enough time for your ignorant attitude. I came to assist you, but if I must I can also drag you.”

“What kind of sexual assault scenario are you playing inside your head dude?” Clockwork huffed, pushing the man off his way, and seating himself back on his desk. “Get the fuck out or I’ll call the police,” he said, dialling the number on his phone, waving the bright screen in front of Death’s hood like a threat. Death huffed in amusement, looking down at the human sitting all sprawled and unaffected in front of him despite his otherworldly presence. Clockwork dared to look bothered even, clicking his tongue disapprovingly while looking up at the unmoving silhouette of Death however there was another side of the coin that indicated a picture not so like the other one inside Mr. Clockwork.

He was going to shit himself. He might already have done so, in fact.

The presence of Death was unmistakable, even seeing him the first time one would immediately recognize him by his gesture, his gutted voice and the never-ending despair he carries on his steel-like shoulders. Clockwork remembered Death like any other person would have, he remembered the handy patterns Death had left in his creation, the knowledge Death had put in his core, a part of Death he carried. He remembered and felt them all, such knowledge came stumbling down on his creation like a pile of iron rods. Too heavy of a burden for a mere human to carry. However, he clung onto his façade like it was a dying man’s last wish. He kept on his mask of annoyance, his loose gesture and the trembling of his fingers all in place as Death leaned in onto him, trapping him between the chair and himself.

“I am not quite fond of repeating myself. So let me know beforehand, Clawd Clockwork, will I need to yank you by the foot to the pearl gates? I doubt Gabrial would even let your vicious self near them for too long.” Death’s tone carried the weight of an evident smirk behind the mockery, making a shiver run down Clockworks’s back as he swallowed down the lump in his throat and scowled, his fingers clawing on the arms of his office chair locking himself on it like a child full of shit. “For Death, you’re quite judgemental, eh?”

A pile of dust snaked around Clockwork’s exposed ankle and coiled up itself around the bony structure of the man’s foot like a whip. Clockwork yelped in surprise at the feeling of a thousand legs scattering on his skin, the dust felt more like a gigantic centipede. “what the fuck get it off.” He muttered with his eyes locked onto the creature making its presence acknowledged as it started to wiggle its body in circular motions on Clockwork’s now tightly bound ankle. “I asked you a question and you have answered me Clawd Clockwork, was I mistaken? Will you come with your own two legs then by chain?”

“I will not be coming, did you even listen to me?! I have work to do.” Clockwork’s voice strained more and more, enough to hurt his own throat when the supposed chain on his ankle grew two pairs of antennas, he shook his leg two times and banged his ankle to the wall for the bug-like creature to be gone only for be left with a ready to be bruised flushed skin. Death fell silent then, he had no more chances left to give, he couldn’t think of a way to escort the man back where he belonged without dragging him. So, like the gentleman he ought to be, he turned his back on Clockwork and started walking to the far corner of the room, within his every step Clockwork’s body jolted forward. Pull and pull, next minute Clockwork was ass flat on the carpet, holding onto his chair’s spindle as Death ignored his swearing and kicking and kept on walking at a calm pace.

“Are you fucking bollocks? Fucking daddy’s boy, no one said no to you before? Just let me go you fucking wanker!” Clockwork kept on struggling, he held onto anything he could find as the place around them got colder and colder, he felt his bones shake and the bite of frost on the tip of his fingers. Death kept on walking inside his apartment however it didn’t feel like his apartment anymore, The next thing he knew he felt his eyes roll in the back of his head and he was out cold for a little more while to his liking.

Death switched places as fast as any angel would. İn just a few seconds he was walking down the path of Heimdall with a not-so-conscious grown man getting dragged behind with his knee extended onto the air and the now fully awoken fluffy creature called “chain” floated coiled around his ankle, all too happy of his fat-caterpillar like self. Chain’s shrill squealing was no different sound than a plush toy getting brutalized by a neighbour’s barmy dog. However, it was a pleasant sound enough for death to relax, as he kept on walking, passing the gates of Valhalla and the Garden of Eden, not even a hum escaped his tightly closed mouth, as this was no different than the times he lost count on.

The path of Heimdall was smooth, way smoother than any other path provided and probably one of the most comfortable paths to be dragged in yet Clockwork wasn’t in a position to know any of this when his eyes rolled back onto their designed places and he got a grasp of the breath that got tucked inside his arse while being sucked into Heimdalls portal. His brain was a complete mush, he felt like there was no guts of his left to churn anymore as he looked at the creature floating gormlessly while still being attached to his ankle, his eyes also landed up on Death’s serene figure as he kept on looking around like he never saw the garden of Eden before - like he never had the chance to visit this museum of mediocrity as it’s creator.