A couple of loud "cuckoo's" were heard that night and they were the only sound needed for you to wake up from your heavy sleep, that wasn't heavy at all. The sound came from an old cuckoo clock that were hanging on the wall in your kitchen, it shouted every half hour so that everyone (you) would know what the time were. It was of course also a little late on the time not so punctual. That night weren't different in any way, you woke up as usual when it was screaming and wanted you to know that the clock were 3.00AM... a couple of minutes ago. You had a habit at this point to wake up around this time (and also when it shouted at 1AM, 1.30AM and so on and so forth). Your nights had been sleepless for a very long period of time and you didn't really know why you put up with this crap every single day and night. It was all the cuckoo's fault for all of your problems.
No one really knew that you hated the cuckoo clock, if anybody asked about it (which they did), you would talk about how much you loved it and it's backstory. You got the cuckoo clock from you grandma when she passed away a couple of years ago. You would also tell them about how you, as a child, would sit on stool in front of the cuckoo clock for very long periods of time just so that you could get a glimpse of the oh so beautiful cuckoo. The highlights were when the cuckoo came out of it's little mini house and sang for you, oh how you would wait for it and wait and wait. Sometimes you tried to grab the cuckoo as it left its home - but you never succeeded. What you wouldn't tell them is that you always heard your grandma tell your dad that she hated that cuckoo clock and that it kept her awake at night and never gave her any rest. You just couldn't believe at that point how hard it really could be to have one at home.
No you just couldn't handle it anymore, you drag yourself out of your bed, down the stairs and made your way towards the kitchen to face the cuckoo as it was proudly was hanged on the wall. The same moment you stepped into the kitchen it dared itself out one last time and, as you thought, almost screamed in your face.
You have cuckooed you last cuckoo mister, you said and if someone would of seen you there and then you would've wanted to cower and die on the spot you stood on. It was probably the most cliché sentence that every left your mouth.
The kitchen window is facing the backyard where no street lights can reach into the room so the moonlight were the only light to be found nearby and it most certainly wasn't strong or so much nearby, but it was strong enough to make shadows dance around the room as if it was making a death dance. You could admit that the dark and it's shadow give this weird situation a kind of drama to it. It made the actions that you were about to make more dark and horrible than if this whole thing would've been in the light of day.
You could of course have waited until the morning to do this but you couldn't deal with this anymore, it had to stop. Slowly you approached the cuckoo, it had not a single chance against you, you were bigger, you were stronger. Furthermore you had a baseball bat, the cuckoo clock was defenseless, its destiny was already mapped out. You let your aggregation show that night like nothing before in your life and to be honest you have never in your entire life felt that good neither before or after this event.
The cuckoo had a great life. But even the greatests of life had to end at some point either by choice or because of some serious series of unfortunate events.
