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M-Smith-sw
prisca1960

FanFiction Jeremiah // The clock

Titel: The clock
Character: Mr. Smith, Michelle
Words: 598


revised story January 2016



Most people at Thunder Mountain didn't even know, that this room existed. For others it was a useless storage room, crowded with all possible superfluous things from the past. All what counted nowadays was the here and now and the daily fight for survival. But some people, like Michelle, knew better.

She had realized that even if people tried to forget the bad times they would need their history one day. And she had started to prevent all kind of art from damage. A difficult task because even her closest friends couldn't understand why it was not right to burn an old canvas or why she was willing to trade in some cans of meat for a golden buddha statue. When she got into trouble one day, Jeremiah and Kurdy had helped her and Marcus had finally offered her some empty rooms in the Mountain to store her stuff safety.

One day Smith did end up at one of her rooms by chance. Since then he often came here when he wanted to be alone.

"Hey, Smith! I'm sorry to disturb you!"

He smiled when Michelle entered.

"That's okay. It always nice to see you."

Michelle wasn't living in Thunder Mountain. She came here only now and then to store some more objects of art, books, paintings, jewelry, everything she found at a destroyed museum, an old church or convent. One day she had met Smith; not many words were needed between them, they did understand each other anyway.

Smith watched her carrying some canvas into the room and put them down carefully in front of the wall. She smiled at him.

"That was it for today," she said.
"Not much, but they are beautiful."

In the same moment, Smith felt a strange buzzing in his gut and eyed her slightly frowning. What did she hide? And why could he feel it? He listened inside himself, but God kept quiet. </span>

"Oh, wait, there is something more," Michelle's voice tore him out of his thoughts.
She grabbed into her pocket and pulled out a small, tattered bag. Smith's heartbeat increased.

"What's that?"

She shrugged.
"An old pocket watch. I found it on the ground between the paintings. It didn't work anymore."

Michelle put the bag onto a small table, but Smith grabbed for it. He could feel the fragile material between his fingers and the weight of the watch in it. Hesitating he pulled the bag open, his fingers started to tremble when his eyes fall onto the old clock.

Probably nobody had taken notice of it since ages. The metal looked tarnished. When he tried to open the hunter case, it was blocked. He loosened it with the greatest care. Inside the watch still shimmered goldenly. The watch glass had a small cleft. The hands had stopped at 8.59 o'clock. He tried to wind it up, but it didn't work.

He noticed Michelle's curious look when es carefully closed the hunter case again. But he wasn't able to put it back into its bag.

"Can I keep it?", he asked with fragile voice.
"Sure!"
Michelle laughed.
" But  I could also give you a good working watch if you want it."

He shook his head.
"No, thank you, but it has to be this one!"

Even after Michelle had finally left him alone again, he wasn't able to move and to leave the storage room. He was just sitting there, the bag with the watch in his hands.  Finally,  he opened it again, reached for an old cloth and started to polish the watch with slow, almost caressing movements.




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I read the story in English. Interesting take on how Smith came by his watch!

Thank you for reading.
I just ask myself: What happend at 8.59 o'clock? I had to confess: I don't know, but maybe one day I'll find the answer :)

Das ist unbeschreiblich schön und still... Ich kann diesen magischen Augenblick richtig fühlen und sehen wie ehrfürchtig Smith anfängt die Uhr zu polieren. Fantastische Arbeit, meine Süße. Einfach nur schön... *seufz*

Danke.
Ich fand die Frage immer interessant, wie er wohl zu seiner Uhr gekommen ist - es ist halt eine mögliche Antwort (und es gibt so viele - ich glaube, das liebe ich an Smith - das sein Charakter so unglaublich viel Raum für eigene Gedanken lässt)

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