Tick. Tick. Tick.
A pristine white wall clock adorned the mantelpiece; it was ancient, the marble gleaming like it was carved yesterday. Snow, the house cat trotted over and about its frame, wagging its tail in indignation, meowing in discontent. Tick, tick, tick, it went, but time never seemed to pass by. Madeline lay in wait for her other half, a yellow hood engulfing her lithe form, as she sighed in impatience. She was covered in cat hair and cake batter, as the marvellous six-tier sat above the counter, lying in wait for her absolute goofball of a twin brother.
Time was a concept so abstract. Time was made to sound so profound. Time was not as mystifying as people made it to be. Madeline knew that. She never understood her brothers’ obsession with its subsistence. Time just liked to play with vulnerable human minds. Toying with them as it liked. Tick-tock, tick-tock, it would mock her. Mock her dependency on the guy with a pencil in his bun. It would cackle evilly when it saw her look up to him for his approval, or snicker scornfully when she sunk into a smug, self-satisfied smile, upon an appraising smile.
The marble glistened in the tears that sunk from her cheeks the day he left. She was ashamed to admit that a part of her was relieved when she saw his matt black engine rev from the driveway. But she would forever live in that guilt. She would live knowing the last she had seen him, was with disdain in her heart.
Tick, tick, tick like the hammer they nailed into his coffin of white.
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