[ WP ] You wake up in your studio apartment one day to find a mysterious clock . Standing in front of the clock words flash across the screen saying , `` TIME . UNTIL . DEATH . '' You see a countdown of 7 years , 43 days , 50 hours , and 27 minutes . You try to tinker with it and the countdown drops to 4 days .

The concept of time is entirely man-made. It is a way that man can measure distance between events. We've spaced out the rising and setting of the sun, divided that into pieces, which we divided further, and divided further still. We've taken human perception and arbitrarily attached numbers to it. For some reason, whether it's a craving for structure or an ancient tradition, we kept using time. Myself, I think it's rather pointless. As such, I have never owned a clock in my life. 
 
 The sun broke through my curtains, and the dawn light roused me from my sleep. Eyelids cracked, vision bleary, my arms rising and back arching to stretch my tired muscles. The sheets are carelessly tossed back, my body spins until I'm sitting on the edge of the bed. Fingers come up unconsciously to rub the crust from my eyes. I find flecks, scrape them off with my thumb, and stand as I bring my hands back once again. 
 
 I know the shape of my residence, every inch. Thus, a lack of sight does not encumber me, lumbering into my kitchen to start up my coffee. It's a subconscious effort: my arm finds the cabinet handle, the coffee beans, the grinder. The percolator, in the same place it always is. The coffee is superior this way. 
 
 I can not say how long it is before I find it, nor do I care to try. Hours, minutes, is it really relevant? I'm sitting in front of this monstrosity, and all I know is that these numbers on this digital display are most certainly a part of a time-telling device. 
 
 These tools of our own invention, they cheapen our human experience. People race around, sectioning off their lives, building everything they have to synchronize with everyone else. It's a willful sacrifice of freedom, to give ourselves to the mercy of our watches. The face of your master, it's the face of a clock. 
 
 This clock, it starts with the numbers 7:045:02:27. The numbers at first appear stagnant, but during my inspection 27 shifts to 26. Odd thing, though, I was under the impression that the numbers were supposed to count forwards, not backwards. 
 
 The body of it is squared off on the edges, but even though it is electronic, I can see no wires. It fits easily in my hands, and I check to find that all its sides are smooth. There do n't even appear to be any seams that I could pry it open with. I turn it once again to look at the display, and the numbers have disappeared. I see only the word `` DEATH'' scroll off the edge of the screen, and the display is empty, and then the numbers return. 7:045:02:20, it says. 
 
 My heart is beating. *Death? * Why had the clock says *death*? Maybe there is more to the message. I am determined to find out, so I sit, staring intently at the face of this machine. The numbers, they sit so still, and I grow more impatient as I wait for them to change. Why are n't they changing? Change, change, *change*, damn it! I feel as if I'm going mad, as if this clock is taunting me. 
 
 What is the rest of this message?! The clock number changes, but it's too slow. 7:045:02:19, it says. I am ignoring my life, for what? Some message from a machine? But I'm transfixed. How long could it be until the message appears again? 
 
 This time, I'm ready for the sluggish pace. I click my teeth in a rhythm, counting as soon as the last number changes to 18. If I keep this rhythm steady, and count to the same number, I can know if this clock will reliably shift when I can expect it to. I click my teeth 240 times exactly, and the last number becomes 17. I keep the same rhythm, but this time putting an extra emphasis on every fourth click, and I've divided the minute into 60 equal parts. The number hits 16, and now I just bob my head and click only once to represent each division, and I find a comfort in this repetition. 
 
 I'm counting 53, 54, 55, and the display changes. I jump to see what it says, and the words scroll across the digital display. TIME UNTIL DEATH. My heart feels like it's stopped, and my stomach sinks. I'm not superstitious, and I put no faith in fairy tales or prophecies of apocalypse. But this, it just feels real. Deep in my core, it spreads this coldness that envelops my whole body and makes it numb. 
 
 I continue to watch the clock. The number on the right, on every fifth change, it will signal the message to appear. I fear this thing, and I have to learn its secrets. I watch the number hit zero, my head bobbing until my neck is sore, my teeth clicking until they hurt desperately. Is it possible that once this number ends, the next one will deteriorate as rapidly? Will my steady bites count off time 54 more times, until I die? 
 
 And then the numbers change, and they read 7:045:01:59. The number on the right grew again, but in turn the preceding number had fallen by one. Logically, it seems then that this pattern will continue. 60 clicks for the far number. 60 of the far right number is equal to one of the numbers before it. How many were in that one? There were two slots for digits, so it could be any number from 10 to 99. My gaze unbroken, I continue to count off until the numbers rotate again. The message appears, `` TIME UNTIL DEATH.'' Then the numbers again. They say 7:044:23:59. For the first time, I realize that night must have fallen while I was counting. 
 
 24 of the third number. 60 of the last. At least a hundred of the second, but certainly only 7 of the first. I have to wait so long now to find out how many are in the second number! What can I do but to think of it constantly? How can I live my life without acknowledging the constant pressure of knowing exactly how many clicks away from death I am? I pick up the clock and shake it violently, cursing at it. This damned creation, it is nothing but a demon, sent to me to steal my sanity. I will not have it! 
 
 I hurl it against the wall, leaving a dent in the plaster, but there is no damage to the wretched thing. There is no change- or wait, as I inspect it, there is, and I drop it to the floor. The numbers now are 0:000:04:00. I set it on my bedside table, and I wait, clicking slowly, watching. I can not sleep. I do not move from where I am. On the fourth day, the numbers reach zero, and there is a piercing tone. It repeats itself, quiet at first, and grows louder. There is no message of `` TIME UNTIL DEATH'' this time. 
 
 I rise from the bed, shaking from hunger and feeling sick from laying in my own waste for days. Tremulously, I reach out for the clock, daring not to touch it at first, but seeing no other recourse, I finally place my hand on it. 
 
 And then, the noise, it stopped.
