The Ticking Clock

By Raag

The clock ticks softly,

The sound of the ticking lingers in this empty room.

A few men and women walk in with me

Walk into this empty room.

They all hold hands and sit in a circle,

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock ticks softly

The men and women sit silently.

Thirsty, and restless I decide to get up-

And get a glass of water to quench my thirst,

I let go of their hands,

Quietly I slither past the others,  

I walk out and get a glass filled to the brim.

I sip, as I walk into the room again.

As I open the door,

I see eyes glaring at me

Eyes which showed no mercy,

Eyes with anger that was piercing through my heart.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock ticks louder with each tick,

With each tick they are getting angrier.

They can't hold it in anymore,

They charge onto me,

All of them with disgusting wishes

No mercy.

Knives in hand they sprint,

All I can do is accept my fate.

It was my fault.

I fall to the floor,

I fall to the floor as the cold metal of these bloody knives strike into me

They crush into my organs,

They tear my skin apart,

They keep stabbing me

And laugh as I whimper.

They eventually get tired and stop,

They laugh and get out of the room,

I open my eyes, 

Covered in blood and emotions I look up.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock ticks loudly.

How long has it been since the hands stopped moving?

Tick.

By Raag