A Clockwork Orange Novels & Stories

Every year, Callum Walker gave me exactly five hours of his personal time. A meal with me cost forty minutes. A trip to visit my parents together cost two hours. Even sex was on the clock, starting the second he kissed me. Callum was the youngest senior partner at an elite white-shoe law firm, and his private consulting rate was 8,000 dollars an hour. I'd always assumed he was simply meticulous about his time. Then, at the firm's annual gala, Mia Garfield, the young lawyer he'd mentored himself, asked with a laugh, "Callum, how much time does your wife have left this year?" Callum glanced at his phone. "Seventeen minutes." Everyone in the room laughed. Mia tilted her head up at him. "W

It was the silence that followed the cannon fire. ​“Cassian, look out!” Winnie cried. ​I spun just in time to see a mechanical monstrosity crashing through a glass storefront. It was a ‘Clockwork Hound’—a terrifying blend of brass gears and biological components, its eyes glowing with a red, artificial light. It lunged at me, its steel jaws snapping with enough force to crush a boulder. ​I didn’t move. I let the shadow take me.

In our third year of marriage, Jillian Holt changed the name she had saved my number under. It wasn't "Dear" anymore. It was "7:00 pm to 7:30 pm". She said she set aside only half an hour a day for personal matters. If I messaged her a minute early, she wouldn't reply. If the text was even a minute late, she wouldn't reply either. Once, I had a fever of 102.2°F and was hooked up to an IV at the hospital. I called her seven times. At 7:00 pm, she called me back right on time. "You have 29 minutes left. Get to the point." I asked hoarsely if she could come pick me up. She glanced at her schedule. "29 minutes isn't enough for a round trip. Get a cab yourself." I had always thought she

The Copper Kettle at five in the morning was a sanctuary of steam and low-frequency humming. The astronomical clock, now a permanent fixture on the scarred oak counter, maintained a rhythmic "tick-tock" that seemed to sync with the very pulse of the room. It was no longer a relic of Julian’s past or a symbol of his mother’s "wasted time"; it was the heartbeat of a new, unscripted reality. The golden gears, visible behind the polished casing, turned with a precision that felt earned rather than mandated, a silent witness to the night the Ice King had finally melted.

he asks. The rod sparks. Blue light flashes. The sound tears through the room. Minnow flinches, her hands flying to her ears. The man's body jerks violently, a cry ripping from his throat. "Stop!" she cries. "Leave him alone!" She turns for the door— Dovie slams it shut. "Look," Cecil says. Minnow forces herself to look again. His face shifts. Something stretches beneath his skin. Fur pushes through along his jaw. His teeth lengthen.

The four wicks caught with a soft, hungry sound, and the flame flared into a magnificent, steadfast cone of pure gold that filled the brass cage with brilliant light. Julian released the clockwork brake. For a moment there was only the quiet gathering of the mechanism as it found its rhythm. Then the heavy three-ton Fresnel lens began its smooth, unyielding rotation. Click-tick-click… click-tick-click… The clockwork heartbeat measured out time itself—steady, rhythmic, and utterly defiant against the storm that raged beyond the glass.

I jumped into other pages where I could get information because I'm too sleepy already to browse the other pages. The 106th page tackles all about the blank clock birthmarks. The absence of a date of love on the right palm indicates success. Having no clock birthmarks on the left palm means unpredictable death. While the absence of two clock birthmarks on the two palms indicates freedom. It is stated that here in our world, there are only 2 out of 10 people who are born with the same case as mine. I suddenly felt happy upon the mysterious disappearance of my two clock birthmarks. It means that I am free to do anything I want and fate has no control to interfere with my life.

“It’s still early to prepare for it. I’ll stand by till Sam gets here.” I looked at the machine right in front of my eyes. It was made of steel, a ton of wirings, a cylinder-like metallic body, and some other bits of gear I am not familiar with. “Working on it again?” I asked. I heard how my mom took a deep breath. “Yeah, it’s always been my dream to create a time manipulation device. I am nowhere near in relinquishing that dream.”

Jax roared, growing to twice hzis size, his sapphire fur erupting into a mane of blue fire as he tore into the Null sentries. Sarah stood over me, her golden light creating a dome that shattered the shadow-spears as they struck. "Hurry, Elara! The anvil is getting hotter! I can't hold the souls much longer!" I entered the **Clockwork**. It was a world of infinite, grinding mathematics. I saw the strings of data that connected Silas to the Forge. They were like silver umbilical cords, feeding him the "logic" of the Nulls and draining his humanity.

I reached up, grabbed the clock's wooden frame, and ripped it off the wall with a sharp yank, snapping the mounting screws, which clattered onto the floor. CRACK! The mahogany box burst open upon impacting the metal table. In the rear cavity of the clock's frame, taped with black electrical tape to the gear mechanism, rested a small circular aluminum device with a fine three-inch wire antenna and a live data-transmission microchip.