I took apart the gears that caught my little girl, and I built it in her bedroom. So loud.
And so bright.
The way she had been.
A hundred tiny, interlocking pieces that made up a miniature model of the clock.
The massive clock.
Each tooth in each gear minimized a hundred thousand times, where they were safe – couldn't crush a hand, and arm, a screaming mouth, a screaming girl, a fragile spine. I shut the glass after postioning the arms on my new creation just so, and watched the seconds tick by.
Every moment closer to forgeting her.
The look on her face.
The sound of her bones.
Crunch. Scream. Silence.
All I wanted was a little bit of touching. A little bit of love, in the old clocktower. My special secret place.
But she wouldn't come to me, sneaky little girl, she had to run away, and look – she got caught by the clock's grinding metal teeth. She ran away from me, even after I took her out of this little attic room where her stupid mom and dad had kept her.
They hadn't even known I was watching. Loving her when they obviously didn't.
And now I'm back. cleaning out her things. Husband and Wife didn't want to live here, any more. With the shame.
Someone calls from downstairs. I have to move the boxes. The fucking boxes, with her things. Her sweet, pink, little girl things.
Time is money, calls the voice. I don't like my boss, but he has a sweet little girl, who I've been watching very closely. I put my hand on the clock, putting my weight against the delicate thing as I stand.
I pick up a box of her things, and move down the stairs.