Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
The clock's pendulum swung back and forth in precise movements, filling the half-dark room with its heartbeat. The sound of rain hitting the shuttered window provided a contrary discordant sound. All combining into a soft evening melody. The fading light of a long day cast harsh lines onto an old face.
A wrinkled brow furrowed in thought, draping shadows over intelligent rheumy blue eyes. Clumsy lines of kohl outlined them, accentuating the red color more than the lovely blue. A cracked and yellow nail tapped on the carved wooden armrest in time with the ticking of the clock.
How funny, she thought as she eyed the wall clock, how utterly laughable that something so fragile can keep going for so long. The clock was as ancient as she was, perhaps even older still. It had been a gift to her father on the day she was born. They’d assumed he was about to have his firstborn son, or else they might have given a more feminine gift.
She adjusted her posture with a small sigh. Her back always ached when it rained. The consequence of a life spent moving and running, bending and twisting, and bearing and carrying children. It had taken its time, but old age had caught up with her.
Not a bad life, she mused. Comfortable again she resumed her tapping along with the clock. Not the life I wished for, but not a bad one. The children were worth it. Her eyes left the clock and slid along the room to the bedroom door. Irregular snores issued out from the cracks and her lips thinned in distaste as it ruined the beat of the clock and melody of the rain. Shame the man wasn’t worth it in the end.
She did her best to ignore the snoring and rolled her head back to watch the ticking of the clock. Her painted lips stretched in a small smile.
“I wonder...” the clicking of her nail stopped as she listened to the clock. “What would it take to make you breakable.” Joints creaked and the old woman groaned as she pushed herself out of the throne-like chair. Her ruffled black dress whispered as she walked up to the clock, like a snake gliding through grass.
Heels, worn even with no one to entertain for, clicked on the polished wood and tapped on the ornate carpet. She came to a stop in front of the wall clock and raised a hand covered in the scars and spots of her age, fingers reaching out and stopping the pendulum.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick-
Her grip on the metal rod tightened as the mechanism struggled to continue its work. It tried and tried until the metal snapped off near the top, a weakness in the copper failing at last.
“Oh,” she gasped, bringing the rod to her chest to nestle it within her lace and jewelry, “what a breakable little clock you are.” Her empty hand rose to caress the silent clock, gnarled fingers brushing lightly over whorls and carvings. “How funny, it wasn’t hard at all to quiet you.”
Blue and red eyes gazed at the grooves in the wood of the clock lovingly, then rolled slowly across the room to the closed bedroom door. Her fingernail tapped on the broken pendulum in time with the irregular snores.
“How funny,” she whispered as she turned from the clock to shuffle slowly back across the floor and up to the closed wooden door, “how utterly laughable that something so vile can keep going for so long.”
Nail clicking steadily, she reached out an aged hand for the bedroom doorknob.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick-
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