text: An immortal wandered across the barren desert. He had been walking for centuries, searching for something he could not name. His body was twisted and scarred by time, his clothes were tattered and faded, and his eyes were dull and empty. In the ocean of sand, his crooked figure floated across the surface. On top of a lonely sand hill, he saw a clock. It was a large and ornate clock, with golden hands and numbers, and a face that smiled and frowned. It was out of place in this desolate land, like a relic from another world. The clock was ticking in an erratic rhythm, slow, then fast, then slow again as if it was trying to catch up with itself. The golden hands also follow their own clockwork metronome, sometimes pausing to admire the sky or chat with the hazy wind, then resuming their duty with guilty haste. The forgetful clock noticed the immortal man approaching and greeted him cheerfully. “Hello there, stranger! You look like you’ve been around for a while. What brings you here?” The immortal man stopped in front of the clock and stared at it blankly. “I don’t know.” he said. The forgetful clock smiled sympathetically. “That’s alright. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing either. I’m supposed to keep track of time, but I keep forgetting." The immortal man did not respond. The clock laughed awkwardly. "You’re immortal, aren’t you? Then, of course, the time has no meaning for you. Oh, but you look tired. Tell me, when was the last time you slept?” “I don’t sleep. Sleeping is preparing for death, and death is meaningless to me.” The clock nodded. “I see... Well, you must have some wonderful memories then. Tell me, when was the last time you saw your face? I can't see mine, it's almost covered by sand!” The immortal man shook his head. “I don’t look at my face. I can't find it. I only see strangers in the mirror. A man, a woman, a child. They change every time I look.” “How strange! How do you know who you are then? What makes you you?” The immortal man shook his head. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what makes me me.” The clock frowned with concern. 'Oh dear, that is distressing to hear,' it fretted. 'But let me see...' Its gears whirred as it rifled through its scattered memories. "I feel I know you, somehow...yes, I see it now, I- " The clock's face attempted a smile but froze partway, its expression caught between emotions, like an owl arrested mid-turn. "Hmm... I will tell you this, I know who you will become. But I can't exactly say who you used to be. And for who you are right now, it's up to you to decide, Theseus, because, regretfully, I will soon forget you again. The immortal man looked at the clock in confusion. But the clock already stopped its ticking. The golden hands create an illusion of a wry smile as the object becomes inanimate once more.