Why the clock goes tick and tock
Many years ago, in a dry and barren stretch of desert waste, there lived a colony of dung beetles. The dung beetles lived in a burrow with many different rooms, each containing one female and one male. The female's heart made a tick-tick-tick sound and the male's heart a tock-tock-tock sound. But a strange occurrence was discovered—should the two dung beetles ever be separated, their hearts would stop beating altogether. It was said that the dung beetles' love lasted forever, till the end of time.
Then one day God made a clock, a device that would tell the time. But he soon realised that time needed a sound so that his people would know that it was passing with every little movement of the second hand, and they would thus spend their time wisely. When he thought of how time stretched on into infinity, he thought of the dung beetle's undying love for each other. As such, he decided that the tick and tock sounds were perfect for his clock.
So he took one female dung beetle as well as her mate and put them into his clock. And thus, the clock ticked and tocked and ticked and tocked and ticked and tocked. But one day the clock went tick-tock-tick-tock and stopped. God was greatly puzzled. Upon dismantling the clock, he found the two dung beetles lying side by side, their hearts no longer beating.
The male dung beetle's heart had stopped just one second after his mate entered Dung Beetles' Paradise. God mourned the deaths of the dung beetles and marvelled at their eternal love. He then put another two dung beetles into his clock. And the clock went tick and tock and tick and tock once again.
To this day, our clocks still go tick and tock. And they also stop. When that happens, you will know that it is time to replace the dung beetles.
Whilst setting up house, I came across the only piece of writing I saved from the creative writing elective I took up at school fifteen years ago—a just-so story (if it could actually be considered one)—and felt myself pleasantly surprised by the words of the budding writer that I was then. The plain-looking submission—consisting of my story, name and student number typed on an A4 sheet—was furnished with the glowing one-word review my lecturer pencilled, "Super."