What makes a morning good? What makes anything good?

The experience, the ever bleek experience that grows ever bleeker the closer it grows to being familiar.

Yet warm familiarity is all we seem to seek, strive for, hold onto.

America itself ows it's glorious existence to that last ever important construction, the persuit of happiness.

Anthony Lawrence mulled over these thoughts as he bitterly sipped at his coffee, sitting alone at a table outside a restaurant only awakening now. With it's staff sheltering themselves from the reality of another long shift of endowing their services to the beck and call of anyone who should find it pleasing in their minds to set themselves down at a table where they should expect to be served professionally and courteously hand and foot to ensure their comfort and satisfaction. Many familiar faces, come for the familiar air and familiar dishes the small establishment afforded all who wished to be cloaked in it's warmth and chose so instead of going to a place which offered but quicker service with none of the friendliness.

Did they too grow tired of entertaining those familiar faces? Anthony wondered with his eyes following a waitress who seemed to wear no expression until she became aware of his gaze, to which she smiled faintly, quickening her step as though in hasty avoidance of the premature chance of an interaction so early in the day. Perhaps she would be more persuaded to show some fresh spirit in the face of a likely good tipper.

Pah! He huffed to himself downing the last of his coffee and pushing up out of his seat, making his chair scuff loudly back on the roughly tiled floor of restaurant. Slapping down two two-pound notes he left out the door, shouldering the waitress moodily who he had observed previously without apology.

Having come to the inhevitable and unpleasant conclusion that he -for reasons unknown to him- was all too an easy person to grow tired of, while others were entertained beyond bounds of time, he was neglected, only allowed a short taunting little taste of belonging.

A deep resentment rose up in him, leading to a strong infusion of determination which could well be seen in his handling of his blue second hand Honda as it carried him submissively toward a familiar address in West Dawn Avenue.

Brashness was in him as well as timidness. Spotanious charm never did come naturally to him, despite his own efforts.

He'd always been the one who overstayed his welcome, always the one to leave early at the appointed time while others hung back on request, like privelaged statues, ever to stand in the glow of the sun among the plush shrubs and blossoming flowers of favour, no matter what he put on the table. He was good enough only for the moment.

He'd found life bleek with people, bleeker still without.

So socializing was to him one smaller evil of the two as he could never stand dullness and despite timidness he was never a quiter.

Over the last month he'd become well acquainted with a large family. He'd found himself situated in comfortable familiarity. Yet despite his best behaviour, a week ago their graces started shifting away from him, it was a rapid decline in friendliness much like a wolf disgraced he'd visited less frequently in an attempt to offset the outcome to little aid.

He knew them good jolly people, with much life to share.

If he couldn't remain in their favour he might as well go to the moon.

Another kind of scowl spread over his features. . .usually there was always someone home. As to watch over a member of the family who couldn't leave the house, the only member he himself had not met yet. He knew little of the matter but finding the house deserted he tried the door, someone must be home surely.

To his further surprise the door was unlocked. Letting himself in cautiously Anthony peered first into the kitchen. It was cold and was vacant of any food aromas.

Strange, he thought, Lizz the mother of the house typically always had something either baking or cooling. The rest of the house too was in solitary singular mourning. Had something happened since last he'd been there the day before?

Surely not or the door might have been securely locked. Venturing on Anthony glimpsed glumly at the front door.

The street outside echoed serene silence, with a few mundane birds chimming outside. . .wait. . .that was no bird's chime he heard now, his ears met the sound with interest.

A clock chimed, the hall became more unfamiliar the farther he trod, nearer and nearer to the clock's chime. He stalled in step with the clock's chime grown suddenly silent. A moment passed in the dark hallway with not a door in sight and then another clock took the torch up, chiming lowly but loudly in proximity, louder than the other one had. It seemed he'd been walking for ages, one clock chime was replaced by another, the floor seemed to slope unevenly, till finally a door could be seen. Reaching with a nervous hand his fingers grasped at the handle, slowing he proceeded, hearing the metal complain in the doorframe. Like the guard to a secret forgotten room the hinges gave an unforgiving groan to which the door answered with a cranning whine, the floor too creeked.

A moment Anthony held his breath, light could be seen, there was finally the scent of life, a smell of fresh linen and a sound of ticking clocks, old but well kept. Opening the door further Anthony breathed, curtains could be seen, a breaze felt, the source of both the fresh air and soft light was a window looking out over the inner courtyard of the house -a part of which he recodnized- another was vaguely unfamiliar to him. Shrouded in shrubs was a fountain he had only heard, he'd had no idea the house stretched as far as it did, mainly having kept himself civil so as never to venture beyond where he was invited.

All the clocks were in exact synchronization, except for one, like a splinter in a horse's shoulder it stood out, begging to be corrected.

With a turn of his head Anthony looked directly opposite the unfamiliar clock, for all the other clocks he saw and knew to be singularly handsome but not exceptional, familiar to the dot, except the one, a pocket watch, hung there, with an eager face and fine hands, it's glass gleamed and looked like an eye to the opposite wall, reflecting a postered bed, a figure laying centre piece like a prop, staring directly at it.

Anthony froze. This was the other member he had not yet met, it occurred to him. A man about his own age, perhaps older, in his unmoving eyes and strong rising chest he could see youth, contrasted by greying hair and frail arms lain atop the covers. The man neither moved nor looked anywhere else but that clock.

Not knowing what to do Anthony felt strongly that he should, do something that is, so moving in front of the clock he took down the watch hesitantly.

Looking back at the man he cleared his throat softly, as not to disturb the man too much. Checking his own watch he proceeded, he knew not before how long he'd ventured but found now that barely five minutes had passed in his idling wonderings including the age long trip that had delivered him to this very room.

Taking delicate hold of the winding cog Anothony felt the watch in his grip welcoming. So slowly he wound, moving first the minute hand into place, feeling suddenly the room seemed warmer but feeling not much changed otherwise. Now for the hour hand, winding it forward the room brightened and odd fast noices could be heard, like a spirit flashing before him he saw movements, in the seconds he wound he felt a moment of shock as the room dimmed and the hand came to a stand still. His fingers abandoning the cog he stumbled back. Instead of the sun the moon leered outside the window. The watch was now in time with the others but Anthony felt well and truly in need of a time update himself now. What had happened? He thought, mind stunned, and then he felt the chilly metal of the unfamiliar time piece gripped in his hand. In the moonlight he opened his palm and turned the watch around. On it's back gleamed an inscription. 'Time waits for no man, beware the man who holds onto time, for he loses what he has for what he never had.'

It struck him like lightening. The watch was a time piece like no other.

Indeed, what a strange unfamiliarity. As unfamiliar perhaps as the mad smile that curved Anthonies lips now.

One the unfamiliar clock mirrored encouragingly.

One very different from the stricken expression of the mute staring man who was now staring adimently at Anthony and The Unfamiliar Clock held in his hand, like a magic stone, to be thrown at fate.

Part 2

A stone he would throw without a doubt, like a ripple causing pebble over a lake, whether it would be a skipping success or a plopping failure, he had time on his side this time around, and failure seemed to him impossible.

There was a moment of hesitation, where he bethought himself from conducting such a selfish act.

And then despite the stricken stare of the man, in fact because of it he threw in his lot and took hasty speed in setting his plan in action. First he wound back the clock to the time he had come into the room. Leaving then out the door he slinked his way outside, deciding on a good spot to watch, then winding the clock forward continuously till at length his fingers did hurt.

Observing the house now he made as though he had strolled the Ave and thought to drop by, Lizz did indeed not take kindly to his visit, just as he had predicted.

He took it that the clocks disappearance had perhaps added to her polite but stocky manner towards him, as they had few visitors and suspicion had most likely fallen on him, but he felt it could only have added to and not much altered the inevitably negative door being shut in his face with a curt apology stating that Lizz was not well and the family was spending time together so his visit was not apt to be appropriate, not for him or them.

Satisfied in his knowledge he took up again the safe spot he'd scouted for himself and wound the watch again. This time he wound it back to just after he had first visited the family.

It was proving a headache to pass the time between winds doing the very things he'd done before, it was like revision, life training perhaps.

At length he'd reset almost every visit to date he'd had with the family before finding the watch, it didn't seem to render at all a difference, a week before he'd found the watch they turned strange on him.

He'd thought the enterprise but tricky, when in truth it was remarkably tiring and took much of his attention both in thought and detail.

Finally he came to a point where his nerves were tickled, like ones stumach after eating the same food at the same time every day for a month, and only that, as he could by now recite entire conversations, mimmick nearly every member of the families voice, and felt he might as well write an opera and perform every role himself, winding and wizzing about proved to exhaust him, at last he found it hard to pay proper attention to anything at all.

Like broken record he finally cracked!

Feeling like he should yield and toss the watch away out of sight only to take a breath, madness having welled up in him as his fingers itched to wind, wind and wind again. No! Instead of controlling time time was now in control even more than ever before.

Could he be stuck in a loop? Had he created a ripple so great that he felt so void, so lost? As though time clutched at his heart, and gripped at his throat? Had he lost his time? He felt he might as well serve out his time and be done with this dreariness.

In that mad moment it struck him like the tide.

With shaking hands he wound, and wound and wound, till the house even looked different. Till the sky looked younger and the sun more vital still.

The air less vapid and light more juvelent.

Still he wound, and then his fingers froze at the dial. There stood the mute man, no longer mute, no longer grey, no longer staring with dull eyes.

The joy he saw in the man quickly went over to himself. Like a cold, instead of coughs and a stuffy nose, a free smile and a lose laugh.

This moment was short lived, his brows furrowed and eyes widened.

The watch. The warning. The stare was a plea for help, a plea different and unfamiliar to any other.

Winding forward again with desperate determination Anthony started his tireless enquiry of what had happened to the man.

An accident. The particulars of little importance to mention except for the one fact, that the watch was the cause, not in affect but in making the man take liberties he wouldn't have otherwise if not for the reassuring presence of such an unfamiliar time piece.

He would stop this occurrence with all his might, he would stop it, if it took a thousand revisions.

In the end. It only took one. One very courageous action, in that moment Anthony acted as though he did not have time for another chance.

For he would not trade what he had for what he would never have. The operation was one of peril, one that would not likely allow him to wind again.

Like the accident had not allowed the man to wind again.

Even for all the deceitful advantage the watch offered it's bearer like a tree the apple to Eve.

It came to great astonishment when the ordeal was done and the two men sat down as Anthony recounted his twisty tail only to have the man smile, joust and welcome him like a lost brother. As time had wound them to meet, and fate had mercifully granted them both redemption from themselves. In the light of one selfish man acting selflessly on the behalf of a very spontaneously niave jolly now all the wiser one.

Both felt a great relief, and non an itch for the ever unassuming Unfamiliar winding Clock.