The Spinning Needle

There was a clock in a lifeless house. 

Perhaps it was the most watched object in the world. 

Day after day, it moved in place, unmoving and grand, towering above those before it. No sound came from the winding of its face. 

A girl with flowing brown hair sat on the rough wooden floor, cradling her mother while gazing at the imposing machine with her dull, peach-colored eyes. 

She had slightly grown up, now into the double-digits of her life. 

Inside, her heart hammered. 

Just today, the teacher at school taught that there were many more emotions than the ones she had previously held to memory. 

Her tremors were not of fear, nor of excitement. It was something in between. Nervousness, the teacher said. Or maybe it was anxiety. 

Either way, knowing about how she felt wasn't going to do any help. Though, it at least made her mind useful for a bit, rather than letting it idle in the silence. 

She stole a glance at her mother's withdrawn face. 

Maybe if she learned how to enter such a state of mind, the pain would go away once and for all, never to bother her again. The fear, the misery, the nervousness that painted her life- it would all fade away to a shade of gray. 

But every day, despite the numbing hours of listlessly looking at the soundless clock, that man always came back to add a few more strokes of agony and despair to the ever-whitening canvas of her mind. 

So she waited. The moment would come once again, and then pass into her memory before long. As it was yesterday, as it was every other day before. 

Just like the hand on the clock would neverendingly spin, her life would continue to cycle in suffering and dread. 

The first thing the girl had learned to read wasn't a book. 

No, from the earliest memories she could call back, it was that same clock that her mother had looked at for so long, at the start with nervousness, then later from habit, until even instinct failed to keep her head up.

From her mother, she also learned what those small needles meant, and the first thing she learned to read was the exact time that man came back. 

And now was that time. 

In the distance, a door creaked open. In the girl's hands, her mother slightly trembled, not that the woman felt much mentally, it was more of a bodily response- from all the trauma. 

One thing the girl had learned was that her father was not a strong man. Far from it actually, he was among the weakest sorts there were. That's why he had to make himself feel strong, and he could only do that by making others weaker. 

This day would have been no different, but from the moment her father entered she could feel a rolling rage that surpassed experience. 

"Why me!?" 

His words exploded into the room. 

"That fucking man just had to steal all my clients! I'll get him back, I'll definitely get him back!" 

Ragged breathing resounded. 

He stepped into the girl's sight. 

She looked into his eyes and saw the expression of a livid beast. 

"Every day, I have to suffer to put some shit on your plates, and what the fuck are you doing in return!? You lot just sit there like ingrates!" 

He clutched his head.

"Goddamn it, I've had enough!"

His hands latched onto the towering clock and pulled. 

It silently protested, but through strained groans, it was finally pulled over. 

And crashed to the floor. 

The girl raised her arms to cover her face while glass shattered through the room. 

A few things whistled past, but a burning pain lodged itself in her wrist.

Holding back tears, she withdrew her arms, only to see the man giving her a murderous glare under his fiery-red sunset eyes. 

"Clean it up."

And so she did. 

After pulling the sizeable shard of glass from her skin, the girl hastily began scooping up the rest of the sharp, broken pieces that littered the floor. 

Her hands were cut, but the only thing that would scar was the wound on her wrist. 

Looking to the side, she could see the remains of the clock. 

The formerly spinning hand had finally slowed to a halt. 

...

In front of the brunette, Mark held out an elaborately made pocket watch, its silvery casing had delicately carved roses adorning the edges of the face within. A small chain extended from its side, falling like a pristine stream of clouds. 

On its face, the glass had cracked some time ago, but the hand continued to move. 

Red light from the dusk sun had illuminated the watch with a fiery red hue.

Her heartbeat remained cool and unchanging while she put her hand out and took the gift into her hands. On her wrist, the faint sign of scarring remained. 

 She smiled.

"Thank you, I have been needing this for a while."

Mark smiled in return, somewhat sheepishly from his nervousness on whether she would like the watch. 

"Yeah, it's funny how that was the most valuable thing I had, yet the amount of things I could use it for was so little. Nothing needed me to keep watch of the time, so hopefully it will see better use in your hands."

The brunette looked at the watch she cradled in her palms. 

It could probably match with a few outfits. 

Mark looked as happy as he should be, she could also feel the pleasure within being sparked as the gift was handed over. The smile written on her face widened. 

In the distance, red light began to fade as the moon started into the sky.

"It's getting late, I'd better get home now."

She watched as Mark turned around to walk back to his house. 

"Wait!" 

He turned around to her call. 

"Don't tell me..." 

Smiling, she watched as his eyes widened. 

"It's a bit dark tonight, don't you think so too?"