The Clock isn't Ticking

To Whom it May Concern,

Whilst I do not wish to be troublesome, I am afraid that I noted that the Town Hall clock has stopped ticking. The familiar face was something of a kindness to me, upon my long trips home on public transport.

Reminding me that at the very least, time still presses onwards.

Lizzy

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To Elizabeth,

I am afraid that the Town Hall clock, is not in the jurisdiction of the Town Hall. It was donated to the city by Queen Elizabeth the First, quite some time ago. As such, it falls into heritage, and the responsibility is held by a group of historians who may or may not know any available clocksmith.

From Whom it Does Not Concern,

Thom

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Thombalina,

Whilst it was absolutely wonderful to receive a response, it was altogether unhelpful. I have no ability to wrest the truth of which historians might be responsible for the clock out of the aether. Might you be convinced to supply a name, or better yet, a business card?

I am afraid that knowing any group of historians is quite beneath this young uni student.

Lizzy

P.S. I suppose you are intelligent enough to realise why it is, that I played upon your name.

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Forgiving Elizabeth,

I am afraid that I am quite limited in what I can say. The answering of the Town Hall letters falls to the unpaid intern. Which is a duty that I immerse myself into, quite readily.

There is an automated process of sorts that my letters go through, and must, to satisfy the systems set up by an administrator who retired some years ago. Unprofessional language is immediately flagged, and prevented from being set forth.

This same process prevents me from sending you such a business card, or using a branded name. The Town Hall cannot be seen to favour any business over another.

Thus, I can only direct your attention towards Bakery Hill, and those that have been found there since 1933. Do let me know, if you succeed in calling their attention to your endeavour.

Thom

P.S. I rewrote this letter many times, until the systems allowed this final form. I apologise greatly for any delay.

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Thom,

I remain quite fixed in my belief that luck has been granted to anyone who has not felt the need to reach out to official process. About the only thing I know how to find on Bakery Hill, is burgers, empty gold mines, and the Southern Cross the whacks have tried to claim as their own.

So, please forgive any grease stains. I eat when I'm angry.

Can't you just... Call them, yourself? I just want to fix the clock! It's one of the first things anybody sees when going down the main street. Isn't it something that you can convince is a tourist thing or important somehow, to the idiots leaning down over you?

Lizzy

P.S. Screw the algorithm!

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My Frustrated Elizabeth,

I am afraid I am not allowed to make any calls that might be implied to be from the Town Hall. There is no phone to be found within my small back office, and I even have to hand in my own.

If I were to call them personally, outside of business hours, it is thought my name might somehow be recognised, despite being an absolute nobody, and so I am not permitted.

However, to perhaps bring things towards a conclusion for yourself, if you were to look up from the burger next time, and across the street to a small shop that appears almost empty apart from a large grandfather clock in the window, it is within there you might discover some strangely knowledgeable elderly gentlemen.

Thom

P.S. I am afraid this letter comes several weeks late. Whilst that probably frustrates, I can say it was an utter delight to myself. The grease stains jammed up the scanner, that is now lying sideways in the back skip. Hated the ratted thing. Unfortunately, they did see fit to replace it, before allowing me to reply to any letter.

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The Jerk Who Calls Himself 'Thom',

So, I did eventually get your letter. I guess I get being proud of the scanner dying. Not so much the consequences. That "ratted thing" is seriously starting to piss me off. Can't you talk... Normal? Not like they're paying you.

Anyways... I did find the Historical Society. In a back room, of the seediest and creepiest second-hand seller I have ever walked into.

Which is where I'm seriously angry at you! The owner of the creepy place pinched my ass. He touched my butt! I've made a police report, but you need to scream at Town Hall for me! That guy is the worst.

Unfortunately, the Historical Society were so much worse. As a bus-driven poor uni student, I'm not exactly an outgoing kind of gal. I'm not the kind to get drunk on the weekend. My favourite weekend escape is a quiet booth at the Golden.

The head historian had some heavy metal blasting, and never so much as turned down the volume. His assistant was worse. She kissed me, 'just to see my reaction'.

I wouldn't mind it if somebody burnt the place down, to be honest.

There. Anger out of the way... Here comes some fun news for you. According to metalhead Jared, the Historical Society only received responsibility for the clock, for a hundred years. They passed it back to the Town Hall, two years ago.

So... Can you please bug your bosses about this? Whilst I go curl up into a corner of my room and cry.

Lizzy.

P.S. I'm not really angry at you. Just traumatised. You've been a sweetheart, all things considered.

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Strongest Elizabeth,

Your letter prompted various things that the censorship machine won't let me be honest about. However, let it be said, that emotions were a thing that filled the office, and spilled out over the rest of the Town Hall.

You may see an announcement in the paper, this weekend, about the abolishment of the Historical Society. They haven't been removed altogether, rather the Town Hall has taken up the responsibility. Those involved in the Society have been brought to the attention of several members of the police, who will be making public statements.

The paper to look for, is the one whose name is a synonym of 'delivery'. I'm afraid I still cannot put forth a name, as an ever subservient intern of this Town Hall.

However, in a much kinder piece of light news, if you were to guide your eye to the clock, I believe you may find it ticking.

Whilst I regret that this may be the end of our communications, which have proven such an escape from my usual work day, I do hope that the memories you keep of it are not altogether sour.

Thom

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Thom,

The clock is ticking!

Lizzy

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Thom,

So, it's been a few weeks. And I do get not responding to my last letter. You've got a job, and you'd just be confirming my excitement at something as stupid as a clock working. All the same... I really miss checking the mail, hoping for a letter.

It's not as if someone in your official position should be treated like a penpal. Wouldn't be appropriate, would it?

Sorry. This letter might just make you feel awkward. I give more than a little permission to ignore it, altogether.

Hoping, silently, Lizzy.

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To Elizabeth,

I am afraid that as of the current date, the unpaid intern with whom you were acquainted, Thom, is no longer working at the Town Hall.

Aviendha Taardad,

Town Hall

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Lizzy,

I happened to bump into Aviendha at the Christmas do. I was still invited to that, despite being let go from the Town Hall. Can't say I was altogether welcome, but who is going to pass up a free feast?

She dropped me your mailing address, and told me I really ought to send you something. Apparently you sent a letter about needing a friend? Gotta say, I missed sending you stuff, too.

But if all you wanted was the darn clock, and I was just a frustrating moron, ignore this. I'll never send you another, unless you reply.

Hopeful idiot, Thom.

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Thom,

So, got your letter. Obviously. And I would love to just have someone to complain and laugh at. But... So... I heard that the Town Hall is throwing a reopening of the clock? I mean, it was you and I who did it, and they freaking fired you! Did they even invite you?

They're making this whole big touristy thing about it. Inviting cameras and journalists, whilst saying how very proud they are of our history. Idiots never wanted to even help.

Anyways... Wanna rock up and enjoy it?

You can ignore me. Never met me. But I'll be the moron giggling, with blonde cornrows, and a silver-starred hoodie.

Terrified Lizzy.

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Lizzy,

How great was that opening? I mean, to me... Clocks have always been boring. Sorry.

You somehow made it fun, though. Telling me all about how long it had been around, and how we can't even make half the stuff that makes it tick, anymore. Has to be blacksmith custom. (Yeah, I actually paid attention!)

But the most fun I had, would have to be the trivia night thing. Sitting around under the Chinese lantern lights, sipping the local brew, whilst you just about jumped on the table with every answer. Didn't matter that I didn't know a thing at all.

Has to be the most fun I've had in years.

Unfortunately, you invited me to the first thing, which means the next thing should be mine. I've got no idea of the fun to do in this town. I wasn't working in tourism, obviously. And they actually get paid.

So... Uh... How about coffee? There's this cute little place, in the alley behind the library. I doubt anybody knows they're even there. Brilliant and strong stuff, and they've got their own little street library you can pull from, to.

Perfect place to de-stress after your exams, which if I'm remembering, are hitting this week.

So... What do you say? Willing to give this moron a second chance, or did he screw his first?

Thom.

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Thomcat,

I've screwed up my last half dozen attempts at a letter. But screw it, this one is going out. Even if it's going to be a messy splat of thoughts.

Anyways, coffee was amazing. I'm making that one of my regular haunts.

But to step right into the obvious thing, I swear I'm not a girl to normally kiss on the first date! I really, really, hope you don't think less of me for it. It's just... You were so sweet and...

Screw it.

I want to go on a date. Fancy restaurant in Melbourne, dressing us both up, and then going home on the steam train. The whole shebang. No idea if it's your thing, so this one is my treat. If you don't think I'm a terrible and shallow gal.

Liz