A gallon worth of odorless, colorless, and oily liquid sits on my desk. The side facing left of me has two tags on it. One reads $12.89, the other reading “Sulphuric Acid” in bold letters. Inside the cubbyhole of my desk is a thoroughly filled out sheet of notebook paper, listing bullet points, facts, and definitions, all relating to the contents of the gallon. I pour a glass of the acid, with the intention of using it as an offering dedicated to my God, who I admire greatly. I’d made it my life’s duty to sacrifice myself to him. Sacrifice myself to the Time God. Walking to the shrine I don’t feel fear. I am meant for this, and my ritual to give my body to him must be perfect.
I position myself onto my knees in front of the shrine. I would not be able to look at any place in the shrine without facing the current time. From stop watches, to lockets, to pocket watches, and to regular circled clocks you’d hang on a wall, everything is in front of me, but the main attraction is in the middle. The grandfather clock, My savior. I pray one more time, then drink the acid, the burning sensation immediately catching the taste buds on my tongue, and splitting them open, dragging them down my throat along with the liquid. I can’t hesitate or he will be offended. The burning in my throat cannot compare to the tears coming out of my eyes. They are not tears of pain, or sadness, but tears of happiness. Happiness I could be of service to the majestic clock who brought me life in a world that strictly acknowledges death.