and time marched on
the clock struck midnight
she stood up, an unrelenting spring in her step
balanced herself on the unbroken arm of her chair
walked out of the room, froze at the entrance
but didn’t look back.
the clock struck one.
street lights flickered
dim light drifted lazily over the street
the door handle was cold as she pulled it closed
so she drew her hand back.
the clock struck two.
silence muffled the town, her footsteps cut through it
click
clack
the air grew colder.
the clock struck three.
stars twinkled in and out through murky blue
as fog swam around her ankles
she knelt by the stream, water flowing against the frozen ground
the street lights continued to flicker.
the clock struck four.
the clouds parted from the moon
she stared at the sky
and as nothing in the world seemed to move
she left the river.
the clock struck five.
warmth trickled down from above
fog turned to mist
mist turned to dew
she continued down her path.
the clock struck six.
and the town began to wake
the breath held in under the moon released in tandem with the rising of the sun
she breathed in
and didn’t bother to exhale.
the clock struck seven.
the padlocked gates guarding the glen didn’t stop her
as she moved through the barrier
wincing as the iron burned
content that no one saw.
she leant against the oak tree and slept.
the clock struck eight.
nine.
ten.
eleven.
the clock struck noon.
sun centered in the sky,
tittering winds
giggling creeks
she slept on.
the clock struck one again.
then two.
three.
four.
five.
the clock struck six.
seven.
howling winds
roaring creeks
she shifted on the verge of consciousness.
the clock struck eight.
and she jolted awake
flushed cheeks gone ashy, sparkling eyes dulled
hair brittle, skin stretched taut and cracked over broken bone
too feeble to fight off the entangling branches.
the clock struck nine.
pulling herself from the ground
roots ripping
falling behind the scurrying creatures
as she crawled towards the padlocked gate.
the clock struck ten.
harsh moonlight falling on her
she stumbled through the streets towards the only light
leaving wilted flowers in her footsteps
not once turning back.
the clock struck eleven.
her withered hands fumbled with the warm door handle
not caring that she cracked the arm of her chair, only caring that she was there
she finally breathed out in conjunction with the town
and sat in her broken chair.
the clock struck midnight.
