The Clock On The Nightstand

Hi!

I am Mademoiselle FANTASY and today I will be writing a miniature story, or one-shot. Today’s inspiration is the movie “I, Tonya” (I strongly recommend it, it’s great) and the following song:

(Listen to the song while reading)

There’s a clock on the nightstand. It counts hours, minutes and seconds with its red numbers. It doesn’t tick like regular clocks. No, this one is as silent as the rest of the room. The bed is poorly made and there are stains on the once-grey carpet. On the wall, there is a shattered mirror hanging, almost about to drop. The frame of the mirror is gold. (Gold! What a color!) It’s mocking them, really. Precious metals next to broken coffee mugs and shattered glass aren’t exactly an ideal match.

Nevertheless, there are people on this room too, specifically one woman. She’s sitting on the floor by the broken glass, her knees curled against her chest and arms wrapped around her ankles. It’s an uncomfortable position, really. She looks like she’s about to crack her legs, yet she doesn’t. She’s hiding her face. Perhaps, she’s tired of looking at its reflection on one of the fragments. Who wouldn’t be? It’s not like it’s a pretty face. No, she is perfectly aware of the fact that her body attracts, not her features. Black eyes and badly blitched hair aren’t attractive. Full chest and curves are.

She is so sick and tired of her own reflection, she could punch her own mirror. But she didn’t do it. She isn’t violent. At least, not when it comes to inanimate objects. The mirror didn’t break because of her fists, but because of the weight of her body when she was thrown at it, by someone else’s punches, and kicks, and slaps and… Anyways, the result is the same: bloody, broken glass she has to clean up AGAIN. Can’t he just be decent enough and not make a mess of the house when he makes a mess of her? Is it too much to ask a bastard to keep tidy? Right now, not only does she have to take a shower and care her cuts and bruises, she also has to sweep the floor. He IS a bastard!

What happened to her life to end up here? What did she do so awfully wrong that everything and everyone hated her? Is it that she curses too much? She can fix that. How hard could it be? Or maybe, it’s that she didn’t go to high-school. That must be it. She knew she had to focus more on her studies and go to college. Perhaps, now she’d have a good, boring job as an accountant -or something- and she’d be complaining about her stupid boss and how mean her superior is being. Although… to be fair she hates boring. She likes danger. She loves it when she drives him insane and when neighbours call the cops on them. What is wrong with her?!

She has to leave! She needs to get away from him, from everyone. She will just abandon them all. But, he’ll be hurt and she’ll miss him. (Maybe if she gives him one more chance, the last one…) NO! She has to go somewhere far away. She could work at a diner. She can be polite with drunk idiots, if she wants to. (He’ll look for her and when he finds her she’ll pay for it. Nonsense! That won’t happen.) She will just disappear and he’ll be left regretting his bad deeds.

But, his eyes are so beautiful. She loves them. (SHE HATES HIM!) And sometimes -when he’s having a good day- he calls her “beautiful” and tells her he loves her. He can be sweet. (He can also be cruel.) Probably, he’s already feeling bad and in a couple of hours he’ll be back and they’ll start over. (Until, he gets angry again.) It’ll be perfect. (Yes, it will be.)

She stays. (He does apologise… for 6 days)

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A week later, the clock is broken. He kicked her and she fell on it. She was so sick and tired of that bloody clock, anyways. Why did it even show seconds? She’s curled up on the bed.

She might give him one last chance…

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Good morning! Good evening! Good afternoon! Wherever you might be or whenever you might be reading this. How are you guys?! I genuinely wish you’re having a good day.

I know… I know… I write dark cliche stuff, OK!

I hoped you guys liked the story. Tell me what you thought in the comments!

Hugs, love and good vibes,

Mademoiselle FANTASY

P.S.: I am not French. The name was just one of those stupid ideas someone has, but likes them too much to let them go… 🙂

I DO own the story I wrote and the characters.

I DO NOT own the song “One Mississippi.” It belongs to the artist Zara Larsson and the video to the YouTube channel Equilanora.

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