a collection of deep thoughts

kill the clocks

  She always hated clocks. The sound they made when they ticked the hours away. The silence they would always interrupt. The eerie feeling that would tingle in her stomach every time she heard the light sound of the hands, informing the minute. Even worse, the chimes it would play when it reached a specific moment. Not good, she told herself. Not good at all. You might wonder how this fear came to be. She tells of a memory, not known of its arrival or how it came to be. It just was. A single door, lined with glass, standing square in the middle of a white wall, holding no other belongings beside this. Then came the stairs, with wooden railings and jagged slopes. That was it, but the clock that could be heard in the background. It was murderous, she told. Every detail scratched at her mind of this specific vision. The smell. The sight. The feel. The sound. Her heart ached when the bells would ring, echoing through the halls of the house and into her body, spreading throughout her veins, sending chills into her toes. Her hair would stand on end and her mind would begin to race. She knew not why this frightened her so, but she knew it had to be gone. It had to be gone before it consumed her. It had to be gone before it took whatever sanity she had left within her and crushed it. 

Kill the clocks, she would repeat. 

Kill the clocks.

No clock was to be heard inside the walls of the square room in which she resides in, rocking her shivering body on the bone-chilling cement. She loved this place she called home. No wooden door. No narrow stairs. Just blank walls, lined with cushion, and a single sink and toilet in the corner of the place she called home. No clocks. Oh, but how she was wrong. The clocks came, ticking away her sanity. 

KILL THE CLOCKS. 

Her mind was scratched to a bloody mess with just the vision of the white room, with the single door and creaky staircase. Just the clocks. 

Tick

Tick

Tick. 

♥