Sarah and Claire in Sunderland

Sarah's Intro

The clock ticked methodically, rhythmically.  I watched the second hand make its journey around the clock face. Each second a tick. Tick, Tick, tick.

            The paper lay in front of me, and the pencil next to it. The fire crackled, disturbing Fig, my cat, from his sleep.

            Tick, tick, tick.

            The writing desk was old, as it had once belonged to my great-great uncle. He gave it to my grandfather, and then my grandfather gave it to me. I let my hand glide over its dusty surface.

            Tick, tick, tick.

            My dress was grey, and it went all the way down to my ankles. The dress was soft, and I could feel the material touch my skin. My feet were bare, and I swung them back and forth, my toes grazing he carpet. My fierce blue eyes watched the flame of the candle flicker in time with my breathing. I twisted a strand of my curly black hair around my finger.

            Tick, tick, tick.

            I grabbed the pencil suddenly, and touched the tip to the paper. The candle cast shadows about my body. Fig mewed softly before returning to rest on the couch.

            Tick, tick, tick.

            My hand flew across the paper. Words flowed onto the page. Paragraphs were formed. Characters created. Settings place.  A plot exploded in-between it all.

            Tick, tick, tick.

            And a story unfolded.

~

            The final tick of the clock sounded, and then the loud bong sounded. It echoed throughout the room, stirring Fig, and perhaps something else.

            Bong. One.

            The bong was quiet, a soft, almost pleasant warning.

            Bong. Two.

            It was louder this time, and Fig twitched his ear.

            Bong. Three.

            The candle’s flame flickered.

            Bong. Four.

            The candle went out. Fig’s fur stood on end.

            Bong. Five.

            The fire crackled. My hair was tossed about as if a light breeze had touched it.

            Bong. Six.

            Fig hissed as the window opened. There really was wind this time.

            Bong. Seven.

            Fig ducked behind the couch as the wind howled throughout the room.

            Bong. Eight.

            I went behind the couch and pulled Fig close to me as we waited.

            Bong. Nine.

            The doors of the house swung open and closed.

            Bong. Ten.

            Windows shattered. I could hardly hear the clock.

            Bong. Eleven.

            The whole house shook. I curled into a ball and held Fig close to me.

            Bong. Twelve.

            Silence.

            A deafening quiet settled over us. Books were scattered over the floor. Tables and chairs had been overturned.

            And then an echoing roar.