Why is the clock still ticking?

Van Helsing walked down the cold streets on a late winter night. Nothing seemed right any more. Why? Why was the world still going? Why was the clock still ticking? Didn't anybody care?

Nothing seemed right any more. He could sit and stare into space for what seemed like seconds, but had actually been hours. Time seemed against him. It was times fault this happened any way.

There is nothing to live for any more. He had always kept people at arms length, except one. Now he wished he didn't. He wanted company, somebody to confide in, yet, he wanted to be alone.

Time, never really seemed to make sense to him. It just was....there. Now it was an issue. He had to do something...something. There had to be another way. But which is it? He didn't know.

The rats still squeaked, owls still hooted, why was the clock still turning? Didn't anybody realise? What was this life? It was empty...empty.

Why was the clock still ticking?

Why is the world still spinng?

Why is the clock ticking?

Didn't any body realise?

Didn't any body realise?

Carl's dead.