Tock Tick

Written in response to The Creative writing Ink, Writing Prompt Competition,

khachik-simonian-181357

Tock, tick, tock tick, the clock starts going back again, the anticlockwise motion was disturbing. The puddles began to separate, pulling in ripples and forming hovering droplets that began to fly up.

Her body began to fly back up too, the blood from the pavement and the bonnet, was soaked back up by her flesh. Her awkwardly twisted angles of her limbs, reformed and moulded to normality, while the blood of her jacket dried and trickled its stream back to her head. Her scalp and skin, grazes, cuts and slices started to knit back together to the cream complexity, not tainted by crimson.

The car began to reverse forwards, the sudden beep, dissipating back to its horn. She hovers up, landing on her feet, and the car, goes back further into the darkness. Her eyes glancing to the other side of the alley, return forwards facing, and begins to walk backwards, arms striding and a slight flick of her hair as she tries to walk.

The lights of the car disappear, after a quick jolt of a speed bump. Her pace slows down, and she stands still as she removes her phone from her pocket and untypes her message before slipping it back. She stands patiently, eyes darting back and forth before she leans back onto the corrugated metal of her shop front. Taking out a long sharp breathe through her nostrils, she attempts to straighten her hair.

The hushed wind, sucked in his breath, straightening out her hair, to its perfection, the her shivers warmed, and unrumpled her tightly clutched clothes, as she turns back to face the door to lock up. The key pulls out, and she turns back into the door, opening it behind her, the frosted pain hiding her face, ready to fill some bottles of alcohol, from her mouth.

The light flickers and nothing moves.

Then her face appears in the glass, she unlocks the door before closing it behind her. She waits a moment, before pulling down the metal front, and then leans back on it, enjoying the fresh air. She waits a while, listening to the tick tock of her watch. The wind, tickles her face with her hair, so she tries to straighten it out, shivering at the realisation of the slight chill in the air.

She then picks herself up, and  starts to send a message:

‘See you in a bit Hun, sorry it was a late night at the shop’.

Then drunkenly stumbles across the crossing, tossing her hair as the breeze took it. The car appears, while she looks down the other alley, and greets her at high speed, spinning her into the air, forcing injuries of measures upon her young, youthful face.

The car drives of, and her deadened eyes reflect the slowly dropping drops, that splashed on her face and mixed with the fresh scarletness. Her watch continued to tick, a solemn tune.

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