The Ticking Clock

The Ticking Clock on the wall.

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1. The Ticking Clock

There it is. Just resting there, against our aquamarine, tiled kitchen wall. An ageing cream background with white fades, echoing the past. Two rusty, black hands overlapping each other, shyly hiding the centre of its body. As well, bold numbers tattooed onto the edge of it's self, bordering the object.

I peered closer, staring at it, looking for the slightest bit of movement, when suddenly a black stick jump out from behind the shadow of the hands and ran steady laps around the circular body. It was so small you could barely hear a thing, and then I listened closer. Moving just a bit nearer made all the difference as a light tapping noise entered my head and circled round and round, a like the small stick.

A beat had hit my mind, which slowly grew louder and louder. I continued to listen, stupidly, and the beat grew stronger and stronger. One, two, one, two. It travelled in two pulses. All at once, it was quick and slow, I didn't know which speed I would choose if somebody asked me to describe it at the mental home in years’ time.

Closer, I stared as the hands on the clock moved a spot. Although it was only a small difference, the gap was large and noticeable to a pair of eyes like mine. Every now and again it moved once more, while the soft ticking sound of the stick drove me crazy. To the back of my mind - I buried it. There, it was nothing that I would notice. There, it was nothing that could bother me in anyway. That was exactly how I preferred things to be.

Suddenly, I felt something vibrating in my brain. The noise crawled closer and closer to the front. I could feel the loads of effort it had put in... It's energy raced in the centre of my mind. Sharply, my hands shot up to my head and clutched it hard, causing me to fall to the ground. They tried to squeeze all the bubbling thoughts out of it, but there was no use, no use at all. The gentle ticking came back, and like before, grew louder and stronger.

Time went by as I stared at the clock. Not daring to take one's eyes off it. If I could tell the time I would know how long I had been there, looking for something new and different to happen to it. While I did so, I heard the steps of the stairs creaking. This meant that my carer was coming down to visit me, to make sure I wasn't doing anything up to no good... like every other day in my lifetime so far.

Just because she was coming down, it didn't mean I had to put everything on a hold. Nothing about this was troublesome, or life threatening. The next noise I heard was the disturbing sound of the door handle being turned, and the bang of the door being pushed open, and slid across the carpeted floor.

'Cindy!' Iris cried joyfully, 'that's where you were!'

I didn't turn around, I didn't reply. I was too busy examining the clock - this was what I was going to do for the rest of my life with great care. Who needed food? Who needed water? Who needed sleep?

'Cindy...?' She walked over, kneeling to the ground so that she could stroke my golden hair, and tickle the area behind my floppy ears. 'Come on you old lass, it's time to wash you.' Then Iris ruined it all. She picked me up, and dragged me away from my destiny. If I hadn't have loved Iris, for taking me in from the shelter when times were hard, then I would've attacked her on the spot;  scrape her arms, bite her face so that blood dripped from the top of her body, all the way down to the bottom. I hadn't imagined doing that to someone in my whole life, this was purely because I was respectful, of myself as well as others. My head was always held high, like a princess, or a queen.

Although, I wasn't rich physically, I was mentally with my golden coat, well mannered personality, and my behaviour towards others. That's why they called me Cindy, shortened from Cinderella. If I could have chosen it, I would've gone for Belle, French for beauty. It's more strong yet graceful, describing me perfectly.

Somehow, when I left the room, I thought that the noise would have left my mind, but I was wrong. It was still there, as loud as ever. And just somehow, I knew that it would be there for eternity, while I was alive, and when I would be dead.

Up the stairs, Iris carried me, twisting and turning round the bends. I barked goodbye to the clock before the door closed, so it knew I wouldn't be gone for long. Because I wouldn't, I would go back every day, hopefully dying there at some point in life. Iris then opened the door to the glossy bathroom where a new shiny version of the clock downstairs rested against the wall.

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