The Deadline*

Before the deadline, his life had been measured by the aristocratic ticktock of duty. His conception, his birth, schooling, friends, work, lovers, even death. His parents had succumbed ten minutes apart, under a coroner’s report of joint suicide.

Their corpses had chased him to the train station, reminding him of the deadline for marrying a woman whom they both knew to be genetically unsuitable. They accepted that any children he had with her would have been a strong candidate for the Hapsburg jaw.

But he would either agree, or lose his inheritance.

He lost his inheritance, leaving with nothing more than his wallet, his freedom, and his passport in a backpack.

The clock above him looked down in silence as two spectral pigeons a few feet away cooed the passing of the minutes. No doubt the souls of his dead parents, still stipulating his obligations.

A fog had descended on the other side of the platform, but through the mists one could still make out the graffitied number "23ers", a nod to Michael Jordan in funhouse mirror lettering. A man who understood about timing better than most people on the planet.

The pigeons cooing became more strident as the clock hands moved on, yet he felt no need to look up; he could sense easily what time it was. Five minutes past the deadline.

*From a Facebook prompt