The Girl Who Stopped Time

Horloge de la mort

I sit in my room on my bay window, my eyes focused on the outside scenery. Large walls of pine trees surround the outside liner of my home. The indifferent trees stand at a dull green, seemingly lifeless but they are still beautiful in their own way; dew drops hang off of each pine, glistening in the midday sun and giving a tree a slight glow. Small squirrels and chipmunks scurry along the brown dirty ground and vibrant blue, green and yellow Humming Birds glide through the air. Adding a sense of life to the almost dead forest. The smell of fresh rain fills my senses, clouding my mind with thoughts of how much the droplets were missed over the long summer dry spell. Everything around me seems so peaceful in this moment, but all peacefulness must come to an end.

A large mountain lies behind the array of trees. Numbers sit plastered to the mountain, slowly counting themselves down. They read two days, three hours, twelve minutes and thirty-three... thirty-two... thirty-one seconds. These numbers reveal just how much time the world and everything in it including me has until it is demolished into non-existence. This famous clock is known by most as "Horloge de la mort" or in English it is called "The Death Clock".

The clock has been there for as long as I can remember. It was there long before my parents and their parents even existed, always taunting us as it's numbers slowly ran out. The worst part is that there is no way of stopping it; many have tried but all have failed. Every attempt made to bring the clock to a halt had been futile and only made everything worse. All attempts at stopping it only made Time our greatest enemy take even more of his precious gift from us. Giving us only two more days until life and everything we know is taken away from us... and nobody can do a thing about it.

I've heard that the people in charge -or "the mad scientists" as I like to call them- who are trying to figure out the clock have one more solution in mind. Nobody knows what it is, and to be honest all I want them to do is stop. The only thing they're doing is bringing us faster and closer to our inevitable deaths. I mean I can't even legally drink yet and with how much Time the clock is giving us, I'll never even get close.

I sigh and face away from my window, pushing the depressing thoughts to the back of my mind. I focus on my bedroom; the faded purple walls stand dull just like everything else around me. Large full boxes of my things lay piled in the corner of the room. The only thing remaining is my queen bed mattress -which now sits alone in the center of my room- the headboard already has been taken apart and packed. My room -like everything else- looks lifeless.

I don't understand my mother's logic for wanting to pack up the house and make every little thing perfect for the end of the world. I guess I don't need to understand because everyone has a way of coping with bad things and this must be hers. Though I wouldn't know much because if I'm honest, I know little to nothing about my mother and she knows nothing about me. She wouldn't know that packing the house up had only brought an onslaught of sadness to take over me. She wouldn't know that my best way of coping is to try and forget so I don't have to think about the end but as you can tell it's not working very well.

I can't even play on my phone or listen to music on it because the stupid thing will no longer charge. I've had it for almost six years and it only works if it is plugged into a wall or the portable charger I bought. Now though, it's not working no matter what I do. The stupid thing won't even turn on. I would get a new one but it doesn't really matter with the world ending and all.

I slowly stand from the comfort of the cushioned window and walk over to my full-length mirror that sits in front of the full cardboard boxes. I'm wearing my pink long sleeved shirt paired with dark wash jeans and my favorite white fuzzy socks. My light brown hair hangs in loose curls over my shoulders, ending just below my chest. Dark green eyes stare back at me; they seem tired from the belated activity I've been doing lately but the limited mascara I'm wearing makes them seem a bit larger. I tear my eyes away from my reflection, deciding that I can no longer sit cooped up in this room nor this house.