Creative Writing Practice - Tick

Prompt: Write a 450 word story in the seasonal genre. It's about a clockmaker and should include a guitar. Also use the sentence 'Maybe we should just kiss to break the tension.' Bonus prompt: The story involves a fight.

Tick Tick Tick, the clock shatters the silence of the small town, rattling against dim white walls and carrying through the streets. A quiet, fall chill sweeps through the town, lying just North of Ripon, England. Just beneath the ticking pendulum, the town’s clock maker sprawls across a wooden chair, the slight scent of wet wood fills the room, blanketing the space with a cozy feel.

Darryle, the clockmaker, fumbles gears and pins with his nimble fingers, sweeping around inside a clock’s shell. His dark, bushy beard brushed against the tabletop like the crowns of thick treetops. Eyes stern, all his focus on moving each pin, each gear. A deep sigh rumbles in the walls of the clock shop as Darryle slumps into the wooden chair, letting out a small creak and tipping onto two legs. He looked around his small room, as if listening for something that wasn’t there, eyes slow and relaxed. The clock maker’s thick eyebrows cast shadows onto his eyes, empty and dark eyes with nothing behind them.

Darryle seemed to rest his eyes upon something, causing him to scrunch his face as if remembering something he missed. An acoustic guitar lay quietly in the corner of the small room, dust slowly collecting upon it, the neck stretching towards the low ceiling. The clock maker’s empty eyes stood still, resting on the dusty instrument.

Suddenly, a hefty woman burst through the door of the room. The clock maker’s wife hobbled across the room, a slight creak in her step.

“Miriam?” Darryle twisted in his chair to look behind at the small door in front of the room.

“I thought you were down at the market?” Darryle’s eyebrows scrunched on top of his empty eyes.

“Prices are too high lately, I wasn’t able to find anything we could afford to buy. Not even a new glove,” Miriam spouted out, a slight irritation ringing in her voice.

“Did you remember to grab the sales money?” The clockmaker uttered, gently shrinking back into his wooden chair.

“Your damn clocks can’t pay for our survival Darryle! Nobody is buying! We’re going to get kicked on to the streets! You couldn’t even make it work with that dusty guitar of yours, what makes you so confident that things will improve?” Miriam stared deep into Darryle’s empty eyes. The clockmaker dragged himself up out of his chair. His belt sagged down on top of loose, dark jeans. An assortment of tools hung off his belt, his dirty, white shirt tucked beneath it.

“Maybe we should just kiss to break the tension?” He stuttered out. Miriam sighed deeply, relaxing.

“Not today Darryle, it’s alright. I’m going to get some rest,” she said slowly as she hobbled out of the room, leaving Darryle’s empty eyes to themselves.