The Clock

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The repetition of this familiar yet strange and constant noise sent shivers
up my spine day after day. The blood-red moon fading beyond the dark abyss of the tree line, the night
was but yet upon me. Ive lived here all of my life, for twelve years, a farm in the middle of the French
countryside. My papa had taken me to the city a couple times in my younger age, but such memories
simply fade overtime. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The old antique clock my papa had bought from a shop in
the inner city thirteen years ago had always left a persistent drift of loneliness throughout my young
body. Its sound found its way throughout the farmhouse in its entirety, almost seeming omnipresent,
constantly mocking the restriction of time upon an individual. Ive grown up to accept the sound of this
clock, considering any attempts at breaking it was futile at best. I gazed out into the sea of sound
consisting of the local insects, grasshoppers, frogs. After a short while I retreated back to my bedroom
ever so quietly, as papa had already gone to bed. As I take account of my short breaths blowing the cold
air ahead of me, I tip-toe past papas room like a fish swims among the fishermen. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
As I entered my bedroom, the same, almost refreshing, icy air sent a flurry of shivers down my body,
followed by the eerily familiar howl of that pesky wolf that had a namesake in our trash. As I lay in bed, I
reflect upon the past day, for this day never escapes my memory. For this day lives as the ingeminating
focus of my life.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. As if waking up could be anymore pleasant, I fell back in line with events,
almost as a soldier who was late for training. Quite predictably, my papa had already cooked the
morning meal, consisting of eggs, bacon, and oatmeal. Funny, I thought, how the oatmeal box had
expired sixteen years ago, according to my memorization of dates, yet it tasted as fresh as the first day I
had them. This of course was followed by the daily work of feeding the animals, collecting eggs, and
washing clothes. Overtime, I had grown a certain lassitude for this work, hardly any boy would continue
an affection to this type of rigorous work. The continuity of it only made the sentiment dwindle, perhaps
as I thought the daily storm would run dry of fuel, yet the storm returned day by day, at approximately
half past noon. As much as I appreciated uniformity, today I decided I would attempt the unthinkable to
anyone else in my predicament, I gained the courage, safer to say curiosity, to leave the property,
against my papas almost sacramental rule, never leave the estate. Funny, how he uses the word estate,
as if we were bound to the same regulations as the wealthy upperclassmen we spectate on the brightbox as he called it. Immediately following my daily work, which had been rushed, rather than return to
that wretched house, I turned north, and followed the driveway towards the main road. It was already
evening time; however, my papa shouldnt be expecting my presence for another hour. The sky was a
deep and sullen orange mixed with hints of yellow and red. The forest had already become a dark and
horrid creature, filled with the mist of a thousand devils ready to devour any pour soul who happened to
set foot in it. The rocks screamed with a grinding passion under my muddied boots. About one-hundred
meters prior to the main road, my ear caught a freezing breath of air, in which I could clearly identify the
dismal voice of a young girl. As I turned to confirm my curiosity, another blast of air, this time in a sharp
and inky tone, the voice of a young boy nested itself within my ear. Startled, I began to run down the
now grey and sunken road with the strength of a thousand deer. The breaths of air, that had started as
an innocent whisper, had now erupted into a frenzy of screams and laughs, almost taunting my attempt
to flee. About thirty meters from the road, my eye caught the light of a streetlight, entrenching a deep
hope within my soul, but alas it was truly a false hope. With the blink of an eye, the streetlight had gone,

almost as if by the hand of the devil. I continued to run towards the now disappeared light, when it
happened. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. My body froze. I felt the weight of several boulders come upon my
chest as I came to an abrupt halt. Could it be? I was about seventy meters from the house yet I hear the
unmistakable sound of that damned clock? Was I insane? Was this a trick to mock my feeble attempt? I
was now on my knees, praying to the almighty Lord and Savior to deliver me from this nightmare of a
life, however, the only response came from the same scream of the grinding rocks I had found so
hospitable. I turned my head one-hundred and eighty degrees to the left, and caught a glimpse of my
demise, before an ominous shroud of darkness blanketed over a foul creature straight from the deepest
pit of hell started upon me and struck my left arm with a ferocity not meant to be challenged. My yelp
was merely a whisper among the sea of the ever-loudening screams and hollers from the forest on
either side of me. The blood oozed from my wound and in-between my fingers as I grasped my arm.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I awoke, startled, yet strangely un-phased, by my encounter from another world. I quickly pulled
up upon my nightwear to reveal my peach arm, skin perfectly in-tact. So with that, the prior nights
events faded into my memory as an unpleasant dream. I sat up, put on my shoes and prepared for
another day in this eternity. I followed the scent of a good morning meal into the kitchen where I dined
on my papas famous eggs, bacon, and oatmeal. Perhaps sixteen years ago I may have questioned the
meal, out of boredom for it, but the clock ensured that would never be. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.