Knicknacks & Doodads

Grandfather Clock

Broken.
The clock was broken, and you were broken, ticking along but never able to surpass the twelve again, stuck in the same position until even your everlasting energy faded. Tick, tick, ticking, time was ticking away but you were stuck there in that loop, that single second, replaying over and over in your mind.

Grandfather.
The clock was a grandfather, and you were a grandfather, but the tiny baby born 11:50pm didn't matter. You were stuck at midnight, twitching uncontrollably like the person in the next room over having a seizure. You were stuck at twelve with the clock, and even though the others kept moving, two grandfathers were fastened in place, trying hard to move on past the twelve, but finding their paths blocked. It was an iron gate curling up into the grey sky, a storm on the horizon. The lock was huge, and a rusted silver key was heavy in your right hand, but it wouldn't fit no matter how many angles you attempted, how hard you tried to shove it into the space.

Glass.
The clock was glass, and you were glass, but you were shattered so much more easily. You were shattered by the white coats and the shake of the head and the supposed "complications" that had occurred during the C-section. You were shattered by the eyes the innocent child you would always hold everything against had inherited and how they weren't his, they were hers, and they always would be.

Grandfathers were supposed to be the strong ones. They weren't supposed to be stuck at midnight. They weren't supposed to not know the way ahead. They weren't supposed to be shattered.

But how could you not when you knew you'd have to bury your own daughter?