Click

Click. Click. Click. It is late. The hour hand is vertical for the second time tonight - or rather this morning. The clock is clicking away the time as the gentle morning greys filter into the darkened sky. Most people say that clocks tick or tock, but mine clicks. There is a distinct "cl" sound in it, like in clue or close. It sounds different. You might say it is in my mind, but that could be said about anything: the time, the sunrise, or even the clock itself. There is no evidence to support or deny any of it. So that means that you are forced to choose if you will believe me or not. You will never have any certainty if you are right. Really any guess you make is just as likely to be right as wrong. 50-50. It is trivial; if you don't want to choose, you could always flip a coin. Actually, I will flip it for you. Heads. But enough of this... So, since anything I say is as likely to be true as it is to be false, why not suspend your disbelief for a moment and take everything at face value. What do you know that makes it unbelievable for me to have a sixth finger on my right hand? What about my ten years sailing as a pirate, why are they so hard to fathom? I am a skeptic: I don't think we put a man on the moon, but even I believe in pirates. They do exist. The same goes for people with extra digits. So, I am Lorenzo the pirate - a man with 11 fingers. I have sailed the seven seas with my parrot on my shoulder and my cutlass at my side, in search of adventure. I bend to no man's will. I owe allegiance to no nation. I am the captain of my ship. Well, actually I am not. Lorenzo is in my friend's mind. I am in the world. So I can't possibly be Lorenzo. Then maybe I am an everyday man. I could pass for a middle-aged business man if you gave me a tie. A sharp one - red. I need a suit too. There, that is better. Can you see me now? I am in the middle of that crowd over there. I am the balding one with the red tie. You see me, the one haggling over profits and percents. Actually, that is not me either. It is more like a reflection in my father's eye than me. So maybe I am not the pirate or the business man, but that still doesn't define who I am, only who I am not. I guess you could call me a character. I think I might have been used in a novel once. I remember something about that. I was a supporting character, of course. I'm not quite main character material. So it makes sense now: I thought I was both Lorenzo and the business man because I am truly a character without distinction. I am a fictional no-man capable of being anything. I am a figment of your mind. But that doesn't fit either: I do exist. I am distinct enough to think and feel - to eat and breathe. I am not a character at all. I am not a mask or a wearer of masks. I am real. I am a tired person listening to his clock clicking, wondering why it is not ticking, and wondering if it is only me.