Eleventh Hour by Abigail Wyatt

‘Is that clock right?’

The young man was pale and drawn and dressed in his Sunday best. His dark suit had the shine of age and the collar of his shirt, though once fine linen, had been worn thin by time.

With great solemnity, his older companion produced and consulted a pocket watch. He laid it on his open palm where it sat like a fat, golden toad.

‘It’s less than a half minute fast. ‘He spoke with smug certainty. ‘I checked it myself this morning. There is no disputing this watch.’

The younger man examined the time-piece with a mixture of distaste and admiration.

‘Padre, he said, ‘that’s a beautiful pocket watch but a man may be damned in an instant.’
The chaplain blushed to the roots of his hair.

‘I will pray for your soul,’ he said.

© 2011 Abigail Wyatt

Abigail Wyatt writes for her life in the shadow of Carn Brea in Cornwall. Formerly a teacher at Redruth School, she is now very grateful to be able to descrbe herself as ‘a full-time writer’ and she would like to thank the editors of all the magazines that have published her work. Abigail Wyatt can be contacted at abigailwyatt.blogspot.com. Her poetry collection, ‘Moths in a Jar’ (Palores) was published in October, 2010.

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