Every tick of the clock brought me closer to the end of my life. I guess this is what I deserve for ignoring the warning the old lady gave my parents that day. I look at that brown mock cuckoo clock cursing its tug on my mortality.
"It's a clock," my mother announced skeptically. She watched her haggard Grandmother smiled manically. The old lady had never been a kind soul and she always remind my mother of an old hag in a fairytale.
"It's not just any clock. This clock will count down the days, weeks and years your baby girl has to live."
"What a horrible gift," She snapped, "Take it back!"
The old woman smiled, "I can't... the countdown has begun."
My mother had read enough fairytales not to anger the woman or the "curse" may become worse. My mother looked at the clock again, at least the old hag gave me, the baby, a good seventy years. Little did we know that seventy years can quickly dwindle.
I don't really know how it happened, but my life ticked by... literally. That clock stayed near me growing up haunting me with every "tick" and chilling my blood with every "tock". I tried to ignore that horrid clock, but how do you ignore something that holds your life almost literally in its hands?
On my eighteenth birthday I had just got home after a surprise party from my friends. I was changing into my pajamas when I happened to look at the clock. An icy chill froze me in place, instead of the fifty-two years I was suppose to have the clock read twenty-three. The clock skipped twenty-nine years! This had to be a mistake, it couldn't take years from me. Maybe I just need to reset it? I tried moving the hands but it refused to budge. No, no it had to be a trick. Yeah and it would all be right in the morning.
The clock never changed back. It mocked me with the fear that I'd only be forty-one. I told myself to ignore it, a clock doesn't dictate a life. This isn't a fairytale. I dragged the clock down from the wall and hid it in my closet. For about five years I was able to keep the maniacal machine out of sight but could still hear the doomsday ticking growing louder.
On my twenty-fourth birthday I felt sick and weak, moving around my place was hard. I stumbled in my closet, the ticking grew louder than ever before. I found the wretched thing, ten minutes and counting.
So now I lay here on my bed as I feel the life leaving me. My breath growing shallow as my eye grow heavy. No... I have... to be... making... this up!
On... Coo Coo... Coo Coo.