The Day the Clock Refused Me
I was sixteen when time decided it did not like me anymore. I live in a loud apartment with peeling paint and a clock that hangs above the kitchen sink. That clock used to tick like normal until the morning I skipped school. I remember because my mother had already left and the house felt hollow.
I looked at the clock and it said eight ten. I brushed my teeth slowly. I checked again. Eight ten. I ate cereal. Eight ten. I panicked and shook it. The clock stared back like it was daring me.
I ran outside thinking my phone would save me. My phone was frozen too. Cars were moving. People were walking. Everything was alive except time for me. I went to school anyway.
The bell never rang. My teacher stood at the board writing the same word again and again. No one noticed me speaking. I felt invisible but heavy at the same time.
I sat next to my best friend, Riya, and waved my hand. She did not blink. I realised I was stuck between moments. Not gone but not counted.
I thought maybe this was punishment for skipping, or maybe time just wanted a break from me.
After hours that felt like years, I went back home. The clock still said eight ten. I whispered “sorry”. I said I would stop running from things. I promised I would show up even when I was scared.
The clock ticked once. Then again.
My phone buzzed. Messages flooded in asking where I was.
The next day, everything worked. The clock ticks normally now. I never skip school anymore. Not because of rules but because I know what it feels like to be ignored by time.
