The Backwards Clock
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I glared at our clock that hung like dread on our wall. My younger brother still couldn’ t get over his shock of the clock counting backwards.“ Toby,” I said, wolfing down a chunk of steak,“ stop being a little wimp. None of us at this table are still worried about the clock- even the cat’ s doing better than you!” Miso, our family cat, gave me a satisfied nod of approval.“ Caleb, just eat your food,” sighed my father, who took a glance at the clock. 2 hours and 23 minutes. That was all that was left until it would spin a full circle, backwards. Except, we didn’ t know what would happen when the hands hit 12 again.
After a relentless lecture from both my parents, I was finally dismissed from dinner. My mind engulfed in a fury that clouded my vision, I silently crept into the living room and snatched the TV remote, skipping channel after channel, craving for something to catch my eye. Suddenly, my ear caught the dreaded footsteps of my brother, mother, and father. Like wolves, they lingered in packs, hunting, before the stairs creaked and the sound faded. I edged the door open until it was just slightly ajar and slipped back into the dining room.
4 minutes. My eyes widened in anticipation and horror. 4 minutes until the hands completed the circle. The plundering rain on the roof drummed with my heart. The floorboard overhead creaked in foreboding. Steps echoed down the stairs as I simply stared, mind empty at the hands, creeping slow but steady, until …
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