Wonder

The room was empty and old. The floorboards had bowed in several places with a thick coating of dust covering the tops of the ancient timber. The windows were covered by heavy drapes which were drawn shut. The only light in the room came from a flickering fire, crackling away in the fireplace. The scent of burning wood drifted through the air as the smouldering embers ensured the continued warmth of the room.

The day had come to an end as the sound of a scurrying mouse ran across the room. The clock upon the mantle made its habitual and never-ending sound of time. With every tick came another. Tick… tick… tick… Everything was as still. No impeding sounds or movements.

Faint footsteps seemed to approach the room. There was a small pause before the door handle turned and the door creaked open. The end of a walking stick appeared from the bottom of the opened space between the doorframe and the door itself. The stick nudged the door and pushed it open even further. One slipper, then another. Trousers with a brown belt, with a tucked in brown checkered shirt. Glasses and an aged face. The figure was that of an old man. Worn out with age and tired from time. He slowly made his way to the fireplace. The man’s eyes glared at the clock sitting on the mantle. He made a small disgruntled grunt. It was as if he was unimpressed with it. Was it time itself or the decorative filigrees adorning the edge of the clock he wasn’t impressed with? He moved his right hand up toward the clock, while leaning on his walking stick with his other hand. He placed his thumb on top of the clock, wiping away layers of years-old dust. He blew the dust away with a soft breath. The clock was round in form, sitting on an oval shaped base. The bottom was embellished with different ornamentations. One was what looked like a mother and father. Another was a car. The sides were covered with markings of trees and grass. The top of the clock, where the old man had wiped the dust away appeared what seemed to be letters. The first was ‘W’. The second ‘O’. The third was ‘N’. There were no more letters, just glass with dust re-settling back down on its original home.

The old man turned and walked away from the clock on the mantle and toward an armchair that had appeared in the middle of the room. The armchair was worn out, with a rip on the right arm and a missing button on the left. He sat down and placed his walking stick next to the chair. He closed his worn-out eyes and smiled gleefully.

The clock continued to move hands, with every second a tick… tick… tick… Suddenly, the ticks became more drawn out. They were no longer a second apart, but two seconds, then three, then four…

The old man was still sitting with eyes closed in the timeworn chair. A yellow glow was now slowly filling the room, with lights beginning to shine out from the clock. The dust around and on the surface of the clock began to shake off. The clock suddenly let out a brilliant white light that lit the whole room up. The old man’s eyes were now fully open, blinded by the light. The room around him began to warp and change colours from bright oranges to dazzling blues. The armchair was being transformed into a fresh, young version of its former self. The floorboards were now freshly laid with a beautiful shine from the freshly painted varnish. The walking stick dissolved and disappeared into thin air as the draped curtains tied themselves up at the edge of each window, allowing the light from the sun in. The old man was no longer old. A young man replaced him, standing tall with every part of him now youthful. He looked over at the clock still sitting on the mantle, as clean as the day as it was made. He smiled and looked out the window. He looked back at the clock, smiled even more so, and then turned to walk out of the room.

This is the story of Mr. Wilton Wonder.