Lovanda A. Brown

Silence

Outside, distant sirens and screeching tires darted down the road. The loud demand filled the silence for a few moments, and its whirring refrain lingered in their ears for some time. Finally, the ringing dissolved and it appeared the silence was back. The cream-smeared walls held up the wooden clock, and its glass face grimaced with a crooked smile. The smile read 8:15, and its thin, overlooked hand was ready to perform again. The hand danced rhythmically tick, tock, tick, tock, disrupting the silence once more.