The Clock's Mid-life Crisis

There I hung on the wall in the kitchen above the stove. I boasted a silver frame and rise pink numbers and hands. Like all of us I too was a servant of time, counting every hour, minute and second for those who could not do it themselves.

Each tick was the sound of obedience and every time a face looked up to consult my wisdom I felt appreciated.

One night the whole house was dark. I noticed with little intrigue that the house had been empty for hours. The heat had all been used up a long time ago. I felt a chill settle on my silver frame.

Then finally the car pulled up in the garage. The lights shone through the gap in the shutters and the engine fell silent. Tap tap tap tap. Three pairs of foot steps came up the path to the back door. The key turned in the lock and the door opened.

I guess it went on like this for a while, though I couldn't say just how long. For the first time I lost all track of that very thing. One morning as the sunshine was working it's magic on the garden outside, I realised I had ceased to tick. Let me rephrase that: I was ticking, but my hands weren't moving. The second hand gave a flick in an effort to keep up with the schedule, but that's all it was; a dry, void and so far unnoticed effort.

At first I was confused.

Then shocked.

Then scared.

And finally...

I

WAS

MAD.

Well this was certainly an embarrassment

Perhaps as the day wore on the family would look at my forlorn face and hear the cry of my hollow ticks.

So I watched my family go about their day, but no one paid me any mind. I suppose it is because they heard my ticking that they didn't think to make sure I was in working order. For of course, until now I had been.

Mum went out for the morning.

Stuck on babysitting duty until she returned, big brother constantly checked and rechecked the time on his phone. It was funny to think that right now time was the only thing on his mind, and in an hour out on the football field with the stage set for a scoring kick, time would be the least of his worries.

With little else to do, I began to think very hard. The TV was capable of telling the time. Even the oven and microwave had their little numbers on display.

Perhaps I was not as important as I thought...

"What's the time?" the littlest one in the family asked.

You too??

Well in case you're wondering if this is where I finally get a break in the story, you are sadly mistaken. Big brother was already on his phone and simply said, "10:47." Get home mum!

Oh! Those wonderful digital clocks. No more rounding to the nearest five and trying to figure out all those hands sticking out in all directions on us analogues. You simply read the numbers and that's that.

Well, in case you're wondering (and I can't blame you for that) as of this day, I am still err...broken. Yes, its an embarrassment, yes, its difficult to say. But more than me, the family should be embarrassed. What if friends came over and saw that they hadn't even fixed their clock? Is that not some kind of disgrace? Somewhere in this unfair world?

I don't really have any more to say than that, apart from my secret wish that the family will sell the house or something. ANYTHING that might require giving me some well-deserved attention.

Perhaps I'll tell you that story when it happens.

That is...if you aren't too busy to listen to the ramblings of an old, forgotten, tired, and forever faithful clock. Because seriously, to be faithful is my one and only desire, BUT I CAN'T REALLY KEEP IT UP IF NO ONE GIVES ME NEW BATTERIES, NOW CAN I???!!!