The sound of her laughter filled the sunlit living room as she packed her bags for her very first day of school.
"Can you believe it? 5! 5 years old. She's already going to school!" said her mother to her father, as she finished packing her lunch.
"I packed your favorite!" she continued to the little girl.
"Chocolate chip cookies!" she exclaimed after examining the brown lunch bag's contents.
"Now don't be a troublemaker in the second grade." said the father sternly to the 7 year old brother.
"Alright. I'll try. Bye mom, bye dad, I'll miss you, have a great day!" he said as if rehearsed, as he ran off to catch the cheddar yellow bus. It was the same bus he went on when he was 5, and when he was six. But something seemed different about it. Was time changing everything behind his back? Oh well, it didn't really matter to him.
As his five year old sister left the light blue porch in her bright pink shirt and purple trousers and gleaming eyes, the parents waved them goodbye and walked back in the house.
The clock hands moved, as they always did. Second by second. Then the minute hand would move. Then the hour hand. Second, minute hour. Second, minute, hour.
But the clock wasn't the only thing changing.
Along with it, the couch changed places and covers, the wallpapers changed, the TV changed, new items would appear and disappear, but most of all, the atmosphere of the house changed. Pictures came and went. The picture of the girl with her Primary School certificate, then the boy with his Middle School certificate, the class pictures, everything.
And as everyday, the door opened again, after the hours of school. Through the door, the mother could hear her saying goodbye to her friends. The happiness in her voice disappeared as she walked through the door.
"Hey honey, would you like something to eat?" asked her mother.
"No thanks. I'm... I'm not hungry." she replied. "Besides, I'm already fat enough." she said to herself under her breath. She wasn't the same girl anymore. No more pink shirts. She wore heavy eye makeup and wore a pitch black jacket and matching jeans.
The second hand moved a bit more, then the minute hand, and then, after a while of silence, the hour hand. The door opened again.
"Hey darling, would you like something to ea— " asked the mother, who was cut off. Her son had already raced over to the kitchen, and in no time, he had prepared a huge meal for himself. His eyes were bloodshot, red color oozing out onto the white area of his eye. After he finished his meal, he walked up to his room, but kept tripping, never staying in a straight line. Next to the television, the phone rang. The father stood up, took it off of the receiver, and spoke.
"Hello? Yes, I'd like to reschedule the meeting, say next week Monday at 2:30 pm? Sure... thanks."
"Divorce lawyer?" asked the mother.
Her husband nodded his head lightly. Tears began to float around in her eyes, but she couldn't say anything. She felt a mixture of anger, disgust, and sorrow. Her husband could easily tell, but he, oddly, didn't care. Or did he?
"How... do you..." she was interrupted by another phone call. This time it was her who picked up the phone.
"Hello? Yes, Dr. Artis... Oh... thank you for the..." she choked back tears, trying not to let the doctor hear her voice crack, then continued, "thanks for the call." she said, and hung up. Her throat was burning, she wouldn't dare speak. She sat back down and pulled her legs up to her chest, leaned over to the chairs arm, and didn't bother to try to prevent the tears from spilling out from her waterline. They never stopped, they just continued to flow out as the minutes passed. She looked at the picture of her father on the fireplace mantle. Nobody other than her knew about the letter hidden between the picture and the frame. It was the last letter he ever wrote. Her eyes wandered over to a picture of her children with her now late father. Her throat was now filled with a pain that seemed to spread like wildfire.
In the girls' room, all the lights were out, with exception of the light emitted from her phone screen. Even though "Welcome to the Black Parade" was playing at full volume, you could hear her sobbing alone on her mattress, drenched in the painful thoughts that had taken over her mind, heart, soul, and life.
Across her room was another one, which belonged to her brother. His curtains were closed, however the lights were on, and he had somehow gotten into a fight with his closet door. The most bizarre part was that the door was winning.
Back in the living room, the mother was sobbing uncontrollably. Her husband stood up and tried to comfort her, which didn't seem to work. He looked around the house for a while and thought to himself. He thought about the wallpapers, which were now different. They weren't filled with drawings anymore. He looked at the pictures. Then the clock. As he watched the second hand tick by slowly, he noticed how much, and how fast everything had changed. The kids, their life as a family, everything. The amount of times he supported his daughter along with his wife when she was in the hospital. The amount of times he tried, with his wife, to keep their son away from the drugs. The second hand had moved by so fast, so many times, and though it was obvious, he never realized that it had moved three hundred and fifteen million, three hundred and sixty times since he sent his little girl to school for the first time. He walked over to the phone, dialed the number of the divorce lawyers, and waited. He didn't say hello. He didn't ask to reschedule. He simply said "Nevermind. Cancel it. Cancel everything.", and hung up.
"I promise" he said to his wife, "I promise, to never let the sands of time go through the hourglass, to never let the hands tick by, without knowing and noting it. So much has happened within our family, so gradually, but it seems so quick. Our children are in pain, I almost got a divorce, your dad..." he stopped for a while, as he allowed a tear fell down his cheek. He took a breath, then continued "It all matters. I won't let the time pass without notice. I promise."
