Time doesn’t listen
More stories from Saniya Mishra
A picture of the clock on my nightstand, the very clock on which I watch Time go by
Time didn’t listen to me.
Despite all that it had seen, it watched my plans fall to ruin. The magnificent towers of happenings that I wanted to live in.
Scattered to dust, my hopes are hushed with such relentless speed. I pleaded and I begged and sank to my lowest forlorn form, dissolving in the quicksand of desperation, relinquishing every other aspiration. I was wholly consumed by this one feat. Still, my cries drowned and suffocated mercilessly.
Yet, Time’s face remained blank and unmoved. Its hands circled; not a second did it lose.
In a simple, ceaseless metronome, Time walked away and refused to hold my gaze. To it, my concerns are frivolous and absolutely un-momentous.
So, it carried on, dusk until dawn, dismissing the claims that I had made. Thus, hours slip by in small moments that I can’t recall the following day. They are reduced and discarded quicker than they arrive, all with such speed that they escape my mind. They dissolve into forgotten fragments of what can never again be recollected; forever in dirtied shards, they stay dissected.
Hours slip by in small moments that I can’t recall the following day. They are reduced and discarded quicker than they arrive, all with such speed that they escape my mind.
That’s all they become, unraveled and undone, mere faded outlines of what may have been, their existence meeting a fateful end, for most thoughts are but caprices and no mind is great enough to paint in all of the pieces.
Yet, so curiously I had looked up to those fleeting moments, that Time has now so hungrily stolen. I would wish for their arrival to quicken so that I could bask in their exhilarating presence, filling myself with reverberating effervescence.
At last, they come, but only for meager fun. They make small talk for a short breath, never more, only less. Then, they flicker away and burrow into the sandy earth and hide beneath the dirt.
I call for them to return. I scream and I demand with determination so sure. My voice stands tall and daunting, proud and resounding, a menacing force, an unstoppable horse.
But, Time doesn’t even notice; it’s completely oblivious. Time doesn’t even look my way, not for a moment, not on any day.
Time doesn’t offer a hand to catch me when I begin to fall. Time looks down on my figure so small. It toys with my life as if I am a doll. Time doesn’t listen to any of my calls.
No, Time does not listen; it doesn’t at all.
Saniya Mishra is a senior, writing for her third and final year on staff, busied by her many passions. She is an artist who cares deeply about the world....
