Anthony

    I walked to the clock-tower today. Although it's a "clock tower", to call it such is somewhat of an insult to what you might call a "real" clock tower. It's tall, to be sure, but made of cheap materials that make you think it could fall over at any moment. Pieces of the support have already crumbled onto the nearby grass and sidewalk, reminding one of dandruff on a hermit old man. It sits in a park in a similar state. With only grass and trees, it can attract no children. It could've been able to supply picnic space, if it wasn't for the perpetually muddy ground, caused by overactive sprinklers. I remember that at one point, this park was the main attraction of the surrounding neighborhood before a newer, less dirty edition showed up on the east side. Now the only people who come here are unhappy dog-walkers, and the elusive bagpipers I can hear occasionally from my apartment.
    I sat on a bench near the structure, and ate my lunch. The entrance to the spiral staircase leading up the inside of the tower was chained shut for safety measures. The landing at the top has no fence or such to keep one from falling off after all, and the city wanted to avoid lawsuits and such, I assume. The stairs were still visible from where I was sitting, though, and uncomfortable images of two young boys running up and down them appeared in my mind before I shook them away. It wasn't time for that.
    In any case, my visit to the clock tower seemed to be pointless. There was nothing unusual about it; it was the same as I remembered. I finished my sandwich, and glanced about. So far nothing pointed towards Campanella's little weirdness about chimes and whatever. I might as well go back home, I figured, and checked my phone for the time: 12:34. In a moment of childish curiosity, I wondered if the time on my phone matched up with the time on the clock face. I squinted at the tower: 12:00 sharp. I watched it for a moment, but nothing on it was moving. It was stuck, I realized. A dog walker passed next to me on the grass, and I asked him about it.
    "Oh, yeah, it's been stopped for what, a couple of years now? City won't fix it, doesn't want to pour money into anything but their own pockets. It's those in charge, I tell you, they're all corrupt, every last one of them. I mean, I heard that just this month, Mr. Fernigan-"
    I managed to smile and nod, before twisting the topic back to what I was interested in.
    "So, it's been stopped, right? How is it ringing every night then?"
    "Huh? Ringing? It's stopped ringing, though. I live just a street over, and I haven't heard anything from this thing in a couple of years. Where've you been hearing this ringing, man?"
    Huh? What? I was stumped.
    "Oh, I thought it was from here, but I guess it must've been something else close to my house. Thanks anyways," I made an excuse on the fly.
    The dog walker continued talking about his own life for several minutes before his dog got antsy and dragged him away to my relief.
    I stared at the clock face. If it wasn't ringing every night, then where was that sound coming from? Or was it the clock-tower making the noise, but only with me able to hear it? I mean, I have a ghost cat, so I guess hearing an non-existent noise isn't too much stranger than that. It then occurred to me that maybe it wasn't the world that was weird, but perhaps my own mind. If it wasn't me then why was all these strange things happening with only me being able to experience them?
    But I laughed it off. I have never been one to doubt my own perception of reality for very long.
    Although reality has always felt very surreal since that day, reality is reality, and no one can change that, let alone me.
    I walked home.