They stare at me as if it’s my fault time is too slow.
They glare at me as if it’s my fault time is too fast.
I’m always the one to be blamed, although nothing depends on me.
I’m merely ticking. Reflecting the inevitable reality.
After having served this family for decades, I don’t know how long I have until I end up in the garbage.
Because sadly, they look at me less and less these days.
They used me to teach the little ones how to tell the time. They tried, then gave up. Kids have phones anyway.
Twice a year they move my hands, reminding me what a nuisance I am, for all my modern counterparts can do it on their own.
Sometimes, the batteries die. So I just watch in silence and feel utterly useless. I lose track of time myself, what a nightmare.
Eventually, they replace the batteries. Although it’s usually accompanied by “why do we need this thing anyway?”
I think my era is fading into oblivion.
Nothing surprising here.
For even though time is the only reason for my existence, one thing I know for sure:
Time is ruthless.
Author Elena Carter 