Echoes of Tomorrow: Part 5

**Echoes of Tomorrow** There's something about getting caught in the rain that makes you feel alive. I mean, there's the initial annoyance of soggy shoes and clingy clothes, sure. But once you give in to it, there's a sort of freedom. Disconnect. I guess that's why I started taking my evening stroll during downpours like a crazy person. But it's not just the rain that makes tonight feel different. There's something in the air—electric, like static pricking at the edge of consciousness. My steps falter, and I pause by the clocktower. It's a landmark now, relic of a time folks barely recall. Yet somehow, standing there, I feel... not alone. I pull out Grandad's pocket watch, the one clinging to his stories of days long gone. There's something comforting about the steady tick-tock, tethering me to the present. But as I watch the hands tick forward, the world around me ripples. Like a stone's been thrown into the very fabric of reality. Next thing I know, my mind spins, addled with confusion. Everything looks the same but somehow not. The skyline bears subtle differences: fewer neon flourishes, more steel. People around me wear strange uniforms, and I can hear murmured talks of some kind of rebellion—none of it making one bit of sense. My stomach drops. Was this real, or had I truly lost it? Finding my feet, I soldier on. My heart pounds, thrumming like an erratic metronome. By the time I find my bearings, I'm standing outside what looks like a communal headquarters. In there, I meet Alex. A mop of curly hair frames their kind eyes, which light up when they see the watch. "Where'd you get this?" they demand, almost more interested in that artifact than me. I fumble with words that poorly explain my displacement, but Alex seems to understand. Across the room sits a giant clock, the second cousin twice-removed of the one outside, its hands spinning wildly backward. Alex's mouth twitches into a half-smile. "You've slipped through, haven't you? Past times knows how to play tricks." It turns out, this 'slipping' isn't unheard of here. Time's fabric stretched thin, some anomaly tied to rapid advancement or catastrophe—depends who you ask. My watch, Alex explains, acts as a waypoint, tethering worlds. I learn a lot in those hours. About this time. Its struggles. Glimmers of hope. Alex tells me stories that feel oddly familiar, like dusty album covers closely known from one life or another. Somewhere between the words, something dims within, and my watch stops ticking. In that pause, flashes of broken memories spark like flint, faint outlines of overlapping moments. Images of a girl—of me—lingering lost in this tapestry of swirling time. Just for a moment, I see myself not alone but standing at crossroads, riddled with paths echoing choices. There's unease in lingering debris of what could have been, but as the watch reignites, I awaken to the truth. I am as much a part of this time, this place. Alex bids me farewell, a hopeful promise exchanged, and I spiral back to reality. Or as close as it resembles normal. Stepping into the raindrops anew, invigorated yet apprehensive, I realize the familiar heartbeat of a world waiting beyond. Turns out, embraces with forgotten times have ways of reminding you where your heart lies. At home, the clocktower stands still—a beacon calling me back. What the world won’t recollect, my heart remembers vividly. **And sometimes, that will have to be enough.**