Chasing Paradox

The breath of time.

In his practice, he hung up the clock. He hung it up unconsciously, unaware that a nail was already there, as if the clock was meant to be there. He couldn’t even remember looking where he wanted it to be; it was as if it had always been there. The time the clock showed was accurate to the second.

He sat down at his desk, picked up his notebook and the pen lying next to it, placed them in front of him, and looked at the clock. Surprised, he watched as the clock’s hands moved backward, not forward. He walked over to the clock and tried to set the hands correctly. He couldn’t, and the clock wouldn’t come off the nail; it was as if it were glued to the wall.

He pressed his ear to the clock, and the ticking had no normal rhythm. It wasn’t right, but it stayed there because his client was there. In the days that followed, small things began to shift. The light in his practice changed, even though it was still the height of summer. Although he hadn’t changed his opening hours, the day was very different from usual.

Clients came with memories that no longer matched what they had previously shared. When he listened back to his recordings, he heard sentences he didn’t remember saying, but it was his voice and way of speaking, as if it were the future he was hearing.