“So many people are boring to me by the third week,” said Uglyshirtman, casually, “but you are not.”
“I have a clock for a head,” Clockhead Man pointed out. “That’s different.” He watched as Uglyshirtman’s eyes got very wide. “What?” Clockhead Man asked, self-conciously.
Uglyshirtman shook his own human head. “I had forgotten,” he said. “Man.”
Clockhead Man was shocked and not unhappy. “But it’s basically my only defining feature. Without it, I’m just Man.”
Uglyshirtman laughed very hard and said, “at least you have a defining feature. I just have ugly shirts.”
“And personality,” Clockhead Man argued.
Uglyshirtman grinned. “Yeah, this is why I like you.”
Uglyshirtman tugged at his lime green turtleneck a bit. “This shirt is scratchy, which makes it better.”
This might sound like a mostly mundane conversation, but Clockhead Man knew that it was not. He knew that this was a sort of peace amidst madness, almost like someone had paused the screaming and the ticking and the seemingly-eternal pain of his reality and given him a foreshadowing of heaven. He knew that he could tell Uglyshirtman about lighting up the darkness, but he wasn’t quite ready to, not yet. He was still mulling it over. He’d seen a young boy with a trumpet and two girls with chalk and an old man with a cane and he had known they were lighting up the dark, too. He’d just not known how he was supposed to do it, exactly. He just knew he wanted to try to, more than he had wanted anything in ages. And maybe, maybe once he was disturbing the chaos, he would be ready to find the person on the other end of the phone.
Was Uglyshirtman disturbing the chaos, too?
Clockhead Man wasn’t sure. He thought maybe Uglyshirtman was getting close.
Clockhead thought that maybe if he could be okay with being a clockhead person, even if he was the only one–and if he could be the best at being a clockhead person–
–then he would certainly be lighting up the darkness and disturbing the chaos.
After all, he must be a clockhead person in a loud world for a reason.