Time

unedited version; word count: 1581

    The clocks excessive ticking was getting on his last nerve. It echoed in the empty house and he was not one to appreciate the quietness that lived in his house. It was a two story house with rooms that could fit 50 people each. The walls of the house were painted cream white. There was nothing special about the house besides the pictures that hung around and stood on frames.
    He was alone in this house along with pictures of the family he had.
    He looked at his computer. There was one sentence completely typed up and multiple other incomplete thoughts. Shaking his head, he got up to look for the wall clock. He grunted as the sound got louder. It was dinging now, indicating the change in time from 6:59 AM to 7AM. Like he cared if time was changing.
    He had more important things to do, like for instance, finishing up that book he had been promising his editor.
    He stood there, watching.
    He sighed and decided to let it go. Did it really matter if he needed to stop it from doing what it was meant to do? He walked away and exhaled heavily. Sometimes he had gone off on a rampage and break everything in the house. When that was done, he would go online and buy a replacement. He lived only on the second floor. Occasionally, he would go downstairs to open the door for his publicist and editor. Most times, he spent cooped up in his office.
    He did not like the world outside as it has been cruel to him before. He tripped on a loose thread from the carpet. He stared at it. And stared at it some more. He sighed again and left it as is. There were more important things to do. He made his way back into his office. Papers were everywhere- trash can, bookshelves, on the floor, plastered on the wall, but none on his table, only pictures of a girl and his computer. He gave off another heavy sigh and moved towards his messy bookshelves. There were an assortment of miscellaneous. He grabbed for a gold trimmed album that was carelessly shoved. Some pages were tearing apart and off the hinges.
    The album read, My Wedding.
    He stared at this for a long time as well, caressing the embossed gold trimming now and then. He let another sigh out before placing it back carefully and turned to his desk. He was still unsure about what to write his book about and so, like what he had been doing for quite some time now, he stared at his computer too.
    The ticking of the clock returned and he again got up then sat back down. He clenched his hand in frustration then brushed the bangs that fell on his face. The screen of his computer was black now as it decided to hibernate. He could see his reflection clearly. He gulped at the sight of his own face. He looked haggard for a 32 year old man. He brushed his hands on his hair again and exhaled loudly. His life was no different from an old man who has already let go of his last daughter and just now waiting to meet up with his wife in heaven. The only difference was he did not even have a chance to see his daughter let alone marry her off to a wealthy man who could provide for her no matter what dreams she had. And even more, his wife was still alive- healthy and still alive. Divorce- it was not the case for his messed up life. They just decided to live apart. Him in his office and them in their own home.
    His eyes wondered around the room.
    The door creaked open. It was his editor. She smiled at him and pointed at the computer. He shook his head and shrugged. He was not in the mood to write. He has not been in the mood to write for 7 years now. He got married at the age of 25 with his best friend who lived next door to him.
    He was a successful author. She was a day care owner. He hated kids. She loved them. Truth is, they had nothing in common. He hated toys. She always had one. He did not like to hang out with people. She always forced him to. There were a lot of firsts that he did because of her.
    She was his life.
    He looked at his reflection again. He stretched both the top and bottom lids of his left eye. It was pretty red.
    He had not slept in a while. He took naps, really short naps.
    He looked at his editor again and shooed her away as he began to pretend to type. She left without question. He began to rock his seat back and forth, back and forth. The bookshelf shook as he accidentally hit it and a frame fell from the top. It was the picture of him in a tux. He stared at it without really looking at it. He placed it back into the shelf and sighed- just like he has been doing all day. He sat back down and held his face as he closed his eyes.
    What was he going to do? If nothing gets written, this part of his life might end as well.
    He loved to write. He liked making up stories and having two people fall in love. He was all about romance, but because his ended, it was like love had been drained out from his system and he felt like he could not write anymore. He swiftly got up from his seat and in the process, pushing his chair back. He smiled softly to himself and walked out the room, past the ticking clock, past his editor who seemed absentminded and into the room across his office. He cracked the door open and the light in the room blinded him for a moment. He moved his way to the windows and closed the curtains. Just like that, the room was as dim as his office and this made him relax a bit. He looked around aimlessly and his eyes fell on a pile of rough paintings.
    He picked one up. She must have only been 2 at the time it was painted. The human figures were but a stick and a circle. He looked through the stack and as he saw the last drawing, dated recently, a big smile unconsciously formed on his face and a tear slid down to his gray thermal.
    More tears started to fall and he desperately tried to wipe them away. He would give up anything to get them back. To get his life back. His daughter’s birthday was today. He remembered that. He looked at his loose brown strapped watch. It was only 8AM. He plopped down on the floor and tried to stack the paintings neatly on top of each other then looked around some more.
    This was where she had lived once, even if it was not for a very long time, she still lived there. He rushed down stairs and grabbed his car keys, said a quick good bye to his editor and ran out the house. He could only watch her from his rear view mirror, any more than that would be violating his promise. The heaviness that filled the empty space in the car suffocated him.
    He rolled the window down to let the guilt that he felt out. She glanced up and made eye contact with him. He was older now. The difference with what she remembered and what he was now was evident. She did not know him. She slowly smiled at him and returned to her activity. Her mom stepped out and called for her to get inside. She pointed at him and her mom looked at him solemnly as she too walked inside.
    He closed his eyes and tried to drive away. His hands were shaking, and he was shivering.
    He was now unstable as the tears started to come out again. His watch glistened as the sun hit it. The road was cracked and poorly done. The drive back home was bumpy. The further he was from their home, the more the tears flowed and the more he became unstable.
    He was not sure why they had decided to live separately and why he had agreed not to see his daughter. He did not understand anything about their separation at all. He only said yes to everything she had asked him to do.
    He threw his head back while he drove 60mph, over the speed limit of the street. His eyes were blurry from the tears and his hands were still shaking. He was now in an even bigger disarray than he was before he decided to finally see them. He repeatedly honked as the car before him would not budge. The light was red. In a final attempt to push the car to move, he slammed his head onto the stirring wheel. The honking grew loud and continuous. Many of the drivers around him threw up their middle fingers at him and some even rolled down their windows to threaten him, but he did not care. Whatever they may want to do with him could not even sum up to the despair he was currently feeling. Nothing could ever compare to how he was left stranded.

Author's Note

author's note: Thanks for reading. This story is probably based on my own experience. I hope that the feelings came across just fine and that he is understood, not necessarily pitied or hated, but just understood. Please review. All thoughts are appreciated.

Reviews

[Third Grace]

There are some excellent descriptions here. The despair of this shut-in writer is clearly felt through his behavior. I think this would make an good beginning to a longer story even a novel. You've set the stage and even made your character go outside of his comfort zone to fulfill the need to see his family. What now? Does he do something drastic? I'm sure there's lots of backstory to your character that could be revealed as well. The imagery is wonderful detailed and the mood was conveyed perfectly. Left me wanting to know more:)