Ticking Clock

Chapter 2

"Hey!" Charlotte snaps her fingers in my face. I sat staring blankly at the small impressions in the back of the leather seat in front of me. My clock makes no noise when I focus on the small and unimportant. She snaps again, her black finger nails popping from her porcelain skin. I stare at her blankly.

"So?" she asks in a tone suggesting that she will snap at any moment. "Sorry, I didn't hear what you asked," I mutter. My clock's noise snaps louder than Charlotte's fingers ever could.

"Are the rumours of my clock true?" she whispers, knowing that the clocks aren't supposed to be talked about in schools aside from education.

"You know I can't tell you that!" I raise my voice. Her eyes burn holes right through me. My eyes are on fire, but instead of flames licking them tears do. I quickly cut them off.

The rest of our bus ride is in silence.

When I finally get to my house I drop off my bag and blare Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana on my stereo. Maybe Kurt Cobain was so popular because we saw his clock. Who would've known he'd commit suicide.

My father's last days are to be spent at home as orders of his boss. My mother and father have gone out to eat. My sister lies on her bed crying, her door locked, music playing to try to cover her sobs. She won't let anyone in aside from our dad. She has to endure exactly 70 more years of the pain. 6 days until our father meets his inevitable death.

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After 5 more days of my mother taking my father out for dinner and movies, his last day comes. The day he had 4 hours left. My mom wouldn't leave his side. Except she did during his final hour. And in those two minutes she was gone, my dad figured he owed my mom something for what she has been doing for the past few days. He drove to the store to get her a gift. He was found crushed between his steering wheel and chair, hit by a beginner texting on the road. The kid didn't survive either. A bouquet of roses and a necklace were found in the passenger seat.

My father's funeral was solemn as any other. We cried, we laid a rose down, and we each threw in a handful of dirt. No one put the fun in funeral like the happy man who was my father would've wanted. My mother arranged the funeral a week before. It was planned to be open casket but he was crushed literally and we were crushed metaphorically.

**** Author's note: Alright you need a few crappy book chapters right? Add some cheesy parts and Nirvana and bam you have a misunderstood teen XD

remember: 10 reads. Which means this needs to get to 20 (ten from last ten for this 20 total) hope you enjoyed. tell me anything you want about it! ****