Broken Clocks

Daisy

I let out a small sigh as I place down my book and look around the empty classroom. Mrs. Kimberly, my 9th grade art teacher, was always a fan of me and let me use her room when she doesn't have classes to read or work on different art projects. I didn't like eating in the cafeteria, or anywhere else that had large groups of people. Everyone always talked about their clocks, the little time that looked like a tattoo on their wrist, counting down the seconds until they find their soulmate. 

Some kids on campus had a stuck clock, very few. The time just stopped, leaving a permanent black scar on their wrist. I knew a girl, Daisy, and her clock stopped right in front of me. Her mom was good friends with my father, so she came over with her a lot and we hung out in my room. She was one of the happiest, funniest people i have ever met. One day, we were watching old youtube videos we had uploaded in fifth grade, and she started balling. I looked over and she pointed to her wrist, letting out a small squeak. "I-It stopped." she managed to say between sobs. She left the house with her mom soon after, leaving me to wonder what had happened. 

The next week, my father called me downstairs, and told me that Daisy had cut her wrist multiple times over the clock, and she had to go to the hospital. It wasn't bad enough to kill her, but she was different after that. She came over again wearing a long sleeve sweater, rather then one of her favorite tank tops she usually wore. I wanted to ask how she was doing but I decided to let it go and let her talk about it on her own will. We still talk, and she still comes over, but not very often. Now whenever her mom comes over, I hope that she walks in behind her. Its been almost a month since i seen her last, and her mom has been over at least seven times. 

A stopped clock really messes up people, but, I wouldn't know.