Tick

Tick, Tick, Tick.

The noise echoes from the lonely clock which hangs from the unfurnished wall.

The clock ticks away, and, like a time bomb, it reverberates in my head.

The bare wall is gray. Not white, gray.

Gray, like the dirtied snow outside my one, bleak window.

Gray, like my stormy emotions over this turbulent past year.

Gray, like the suffocating fate that is inevitable.

Gray, like the ashen faces of my parents when they heard the news.

My eyes seem transfixed on that single clock which hangs on the dreary wall.

But with each tick, my fate is coming closer to the foot of my bed.

And it ticks on, and on, and on

Until I at last give in and lower my eyes.

Away from the impending clock which ticks.

Down the wall so gray.

Until I am staring into the eyes of my fate.

The dead, gray, unblinking eyes.

Tick. Tick. Silence.