The Clock

The clock won’t stop ticking. Tick tock, tick tock it taunts as it reminds me of the time that won’t stop, that won’t wait for me to catch up. The clock keeps ticking as I try to hide behind the shelf of expired drinks in this dingey, dirty convenience store. But what convenience has it brought, as I try to find shelter from the rain and all I get are glares from the man behind the screen. But unless he yanks me out I won’t leave, I refuse to go back to the cold, wet, unforgiven streets. I refuse to continue to lay on the hard, rough concrete that surrounds this city. I refuse to continue deteriorating my dignity as I scavenge for food in trash bins and back alleys. I refuse to continue to accept the pity of fools and be stolen blind in every shelter in this county. The clock won’t stop ticking. With every tick my body shifts and shifts as if in tune with each minute and every second as it continues to tick. The man won’t stop staring, won’t stop glaring and the rain won’t stop pouring. The clock won’t stop ticking. I am tired, I am angry, but most of all the clock won’t stop ticking! I don’t need anyone’s help, all I need is me. How dare the man value this expired, gross, old drinks over me. The clock won’t stop ticking! The man is still glaring and why won’t it stop raining? Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, STOP! I grab whatever is around me, I run. I can’t breathe. I can’t leave, the man blocks the door and points a gun at me. Do you really value these drinks more than me? The clock won’t stop ticking not even when the man pulled the trigger and shot me.