A Race Against the Clock

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
How two people handle the end of a relationship

Submitted: August 12, 2016

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Submitted: August 12, 2016



Only a few days after the Couple decided to stop doing it and give each other some much-needed space, Time began to take on a whole different meaning for them. Suddenly, there was nothing to do but to sit around and think about the sex they were no longer having, the memory of their once physically intimate relationship now pushed back to the farthest corners of their psyche, yet their longing for said relationship still present at the forefront of their minds. Time suddenly started to speak to them, the tick-tock of the clock a reminder that sex was, at least for now, no longer an option.

This sudden awareness of the passing of Time took its toll on their mental health. The man of the relationship succumbed to bouts of unreasonable weeping, especially during his philosophical showers, the type of showers that tended to take longer than fifteen minutes which, for a guy, could be considered a pretty long time (unless of course he was sitting on the toilet masturbating). The woman on the other hand chose to push away the self-loathing and loneliness. Somewhere deep within her soul’s core she promised herself to spend most of her time exploring her individuality, to remind herself that she was not under the control of Time and that Time was, in fact, the party who needed to show some flexibility. So then the woman of the relationship was able to deal with this whole Time business in a more or less rational manner. She first turned Time into a tangible and traceable concept in her mind’s eye. Then - and here’s where it gets interesting – she grabbed this now-tangible concept by the throat and began to squeeze as hard as she could, threatening to break its neck if it didn’t subject itself to her will. And this was how she dominated Time. Thus the blows that kept smashing her core into pieces after the end of her physically intimate relationship were softened to a great degree, became almost non-existent. The man of the relationship, on the other hand, failed to deal with Time in a rational manner. Rather, he succumbed to it (“it” being Time). The bouts of weeping would come and go at random, and he made no effort to exercise any control over them. Each tick of the clock was like a hammer that hit him over the head, over and over again, and yet he refused to acknowledge that Time was now his greatest enemy, and that he needed to do something about it.

Back when he used to have sex with this girl almost on a daily basis, getting some had become the sole reason why he would even get out of bed. Here’s how it generally worked: the girl would come over to his place, they would do their thing and then she would leave, him ignoring the fact that there was something greater there between the two than just the pleasure of fucking, thereby allowing pure physical lust to take control of all his actions, so that his whole daily mental process revolved around waiting for the girl to come over again, his most important motivator to go through the week the fact that if he just pushed through for a couple more days, he could reward himself by feeling that wetness between the girl’s legs. It was only after the end of this physical relationship where sunsets began to look different to him, where Time began the aforementioned process of constantly reminding him that he was alone. This girl had turned into his only reason for getting out of bed –she had brought into his life not just physical intimacy, but something much more important, something that only now he felt was missing. With her, concepts such as Time and Life and Death had lost all their power and meaning. With her, unbeknownst to himself, he had devoted his body and mind to two selves instead of one. With her, he had learned of a type of attachment that transcended physicality, a type of sex that was the external display of deeply rooted love.

So then it is natural for a man who is unable to come face to face with Time and its cruel nature to long for such a close relationship rather than doing what the strong woman had done, which was to grab the damn thing by the throat and rub its face in the dirt. Yet, even for her, the memory of this relationship may remain dormant, refusing to vanish from her mind, and this dormant memory, this billowing bearer of melancholy, could perhaps be triggered someday. Maybe in that brief window of solitude before one falls asleep, where Time feels heavy and pushes the soul against the walls of one’s physical body, she will remember him and, with great sadness in her eyes, realize that she, too, senses the painful passing of Time without a lover by her side.

For now, they both have a race to win – a race against the clock.

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