Emoticle: Killing Time.
by; Izzati Idrus
15th May 2013
As loneliness embraces me so tightly
it is suffocating, the voice of my mind calls out to Time;
“Hey, I wish you would be of no
relevance.”
Feeling dejected, I am just about to
willingly succumb to emptiness for what I have become - which is nothing -
makes me feel tremendously helpless. I have nothing to show the world, nothing
left to give. I am trashed and ignored for being unnecessary yet approached by
vultures who want nothing more but to feed on me. With the last bit of strength
I have left, I desperately try to cast shadow upon Time instead, to make me
feel better.
Who would have thought that Time
would shine on its own, blinding me until the darkness that has been clouding
me all the while would thicken to the point that I am wrapped by nothing but
the coldness, the stillness, the nothingness of the void of… life?
“Just so you could feel belonged?”
Time whispers. And yet it is the
loudest sound I have ever heard in my life. It truly feels like my eardrums
burst and blood trickles out of my ears. But none can comprehend the kind of
pain those words causes to my heart. For the longest second of my life, it
feels like my soul has been taken away, and my breath is no longer.
My emotions are in turmoil and my
mind races madly until almost every inch of me becomes numb. It is impossible
to accurately articulate what I feel and think, but one thing is for certain:
it is the sinister that drives me to look at the face of the clock, in search
for the meaning behind those words.
1:50. The hands of the clock point
out.
Yes. It appears the retort was indeed
in jester, for upon the face of the clock there is an apparent smile.
Instinctively, my hand reaches out to the clock and pushes it off the table.
There is a crashing sound as the clock meets the floor after its fall. And yet…
Tick tock. Tick tock.
As if it is taunting me, “I am still
moving. Are you?”
That ends my numbness. Now fuelled by
anger, I crouch down, grab the clock and take the batteries out. After which, I
smash it to the floor over and over again until all energy is sapped of me, all
the while shouting countless times;
“YOU ARE NOT!”
Finally, there is silence, except
for my heavy breathing. There are noticeable scratches and small dent on the
floor. There are pieces of the now non-functional clock, or what remains of it.
And there is my blood; some on the floor, some on the shards of the broken
pieces of the clock but mostly in my own palms.
Only when the blood begins to dry
that tears start to well up in my eyes before falling generously down my pale cheeks.
Because it is then that I greatly wish in vain that I was not taught to be able
to tell time and that I have no knowledge that Time will always move forward
even if I were to burn all clocks in the world.
Because it is then that I begin to
accept the truths in the words of Time, even though the talking Time really is
simply a pigment of my own imagination, my brief alter-ego.
