Tick

Tick. Tick. Tick. It was the only sound that could be felt within the room, that filled the empty silence. The second that each tick represented, felt like an hour to the only person in the room, crouched in the corner, his head huddled in his arms. With each tick popped in his head another reason as to why he didn't deserve to live.
He lifted his head towards the kitchen counter on which the only utensil visible to him was the one he was desiring the most, a knife.
Tick. Tick. Tick. More seconds passed by, more thoughts passed by, and more justifications were made in his head. Enough to make him put his arms down and lift himself up - a lifeless body home to a beating heart.
The ticks now began to resound more powerfully. Tick. Tick. Tick. Each tick was now the footstep of the man as he edged closer towards the knife. Tick, he took a step. Tick, he took another. Tick, he was at the kitchen door. Tick, he stood infront of the knife.
The ticking did not stop, but the man did. He blocked the sound of the clock as he pondered for one last time, the action that he was about to take. Then he heard the clock tick again, and again, each tick aligned with his movement.
Tick, he grabbed the knife. Tick, he lifted it up. Tick, he examined the blade. Tick, he pointed it towards his chest. Tick, he closed his eyes. Tick, he took a deep breath. Tick, the phone rang.
His eyes burst open, the knife clattered on to the ground and he fell on to the kitchen counter, his shaking arms preventing him from his head from colliding with the counter. He felt his heart pounding and attempting to break through his rib cage. Meanwhile, the phone kept ringing, drowning the persistent ticks.
Rrrriiiiing. Rrrrrrrriiiinnng. The noise echoed inside the man's head. He looked at it dazed and confused, not knowing if he should pick it. But, stubbornly, the phone refused to stop. Rrrriiiiing, rrrrriiiiinnnngggg, rrrrriiiiinnnngggg.
Out of annoyance, more than anything else, he picked the phone up, his entire body shivering with fear.
"H-h-h-ello?" he managed to mutter, his voice shaking.
"Heeeey, It's me! Surprise!". Hearing her voice, a sudden warmth ran through his body that left him speechless. His body began to tremble even more, his legs nearly giving in to the weight of his body. He stumbled on to the nearby dining chair to sit, his body still tensed.
"Hello? Are you okay?" the concerned voice said through the phone, noting the man's silence and the background disrepancies.
"O-o-fcourse I'm okay. How could I not be now that my beautiful daughter has called me. How's Venezuela treating you?", the man said, softly, a small smile appearing across his face.
"Oh pish posh dad. You know I was going to call you, I have so much to tell!" his daughter said excitedly, widening the thin, weary smile a bit more. He calmly listened to the stories she started telling him, comically retorting wherever necessary.
In the background continued the unceasing ticks of the clock that had been drowned by the voice of the man's daughter. The man had become oblivious to the ticks, but they were there.
But this time, each tick represented only the passing of time as he continued to talk to his daughter. Tick. Tick. Tick. And he still kept on talking.
More time passed, and while still conversing with his daughter, he unconsciously aligned his movement with the Ticks of the clock. Tick, he got up from his chair. Tick, he bent down to pick up the knife. Tick, he picked up the knife. Tick, he looked at it. Tick, he placed it on the corner. Tick, he took a step back into the room from where he came. Tick, he sat on his sofa.
And yet, he kept on talking to her, ignoring the ticks that were attempting to seal his fate. The thin smile had widened enough to instill in him a little sense of joy and relief.
The lifeless body found inside itself a little bit of life, enough to give him strength to carry on for a bit longer.
But the clock behind him waited, patiently.
Tick. Tick. Tick

Purpose

They sparkled. They shimmered. They shone. Without hesitancy, they made themselves naked to the eyes of the universe; for the known and the unknown to ogle at them. They felt the admiration and the concealed envy every time a being gazed at them, but they ignored it. They continued to display their individuality to the dark abyss that surrounded them. They continued to light the path and the lives of the beings unknown to them. They persisted in giving the universe the beauty that the universe so desired, even if they didn't see themselves in the same light.

'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder' they had been told. But they never beheld themselves. They had never wanted to. For they found beauty to be present within those that gazed at them. Was it ungrateful of them to do so? They'd always pondered, but never had the courage to speak up. They had seen the limits to which the universe had gone to have a glimpse of them, to satisfy their lust for awe and wonder. They didn't want to disturb that. They were just happy to oblige...

Each one of them knew there was another like them. They could see each other, and in each other, see themselves. But they didn't reach out. They couldn't reach out. The universe was busy in their admiration. They couldn't disturb that. Like a cog in a machine, they were brought to serve a specific purpose, a destiny that they acknowledged, even if they didn't approve of it.

So, they stood there, being beautiful. They Didn't move. They Didn't talk. They kept silent. They did what the universe considered them to be the best at; they shone.

And shone.

And shone.

Clockwork

Slowly, the Moon emerged, casting it's light onto the deafening silence. Apart from an uncommon sight of a stray cat, not a creature twitched or stirred. Even the wind couldn't muster up the courage to provide the glimmering moonlight with the sweet melody of its whistle. The trees peacefully slumbered, while the streets lay empty and bare, begging to be driven on. The world seemingly stood still, but time kept moving on.

Minutes passed by, then hours, yet there remained no sight of liveliness. Dejected from the lack of praise, the once bright, pearly rays had turned dull and apathetic. The Moon lost the vigor and the gleam with which it had risen up. The world noticed the change, but carelessly disregarded it, causing the disheartened Moon to gradually descend and it's now dull, silvery charm to slowly fade into vibrancy.

The oncoming hue had carefully crept upon the world, spilling into people's homes, and like a palette, roused the world with the vivid blend of elegance and grandeur. It instilled in the world a new hope - a new light. With every silver sparkle that faded, a golden ray beamed in its place. The dimness was being replaced by energy, silence by song, serenity by resonance, and isolation by occurrence. To a new-born this may be unfamiliar, but to the world, this was regular. This was periodic. This was clockwork.

One the one hand, the Sun had grown accustomed to this system, and why would it not? Every time it rose, the world praised its arrival with trumpets reserved for the nobles and the royals, sang songs that would melt the harshest of icebergs, and recited sonnets that glorified its everlasting splendor.
On the other hand, the Moon had not. It saw the world celebrate its descent, like it had seen the world celebrate for millenniums, and it still hurt. It enviously gazed at the grace with which the Sun rose, at its capability to breathe life into a stagnant world, and at the admiration that the world held for it.
The Moon too desired the compliments that the Sun received and it too longed for praise and approval, but none were forthcoming. None have been ever forthcoming. Where once hope and ambition roamed, there was only resentment and defeat. As it dipped below the horizon, losing sight of the beauty it attempted to attain, the Moon prepared to shine its rays onto another street. The cycle was beginning to repeat. Under the constant resentment, the Moon realized that it too was in fact accustomed to the cycle, it just hadn't accepted it. And why wouldn't the Moon be accustomed to the cycle? After all, it was clockwork.

Objective

 I stood behind the building, peeping over the side edges, keeping an eye on my next target. Adjusting my glasses, I discreetly moved towards him keeping myself hidden amongst the shadows as the man, whom I was marking, calmly walked in the alley, approaching the door to one of the buildings. Rain poured down heavily, reducing my line of vision. The job was extremely hard and the weather made it more difficult. The building that my target was going to looked oddly similar to the rest. Plain, empty, deserted with no possible signs of anyone entering or leaving in quite a while.
              Amidst the pitter-patter of rain drops, I silently made my way up to him, my hands in my coat pockets, my gun hugging my thighs, my badge hugging my wet breasts. Somewhere in the distance I heard the honking of a horn, forcing me to hide behind the phone booth that was near me, fearing the man may turn around and see me, but he did not. I put my hand on the gun, grasping it to give my self the strength to carry out my orders. I knew I had to get to him before he went in the building, so that I could kill him, finish what I had started and finally prove my worth.
               The man, unaware of anyone around him, reached the door and began to unlock it. I took the gun out of my strap, brandished it and under the pelting rain, like a deadly wiper, slithered noiselessly across the water to where the man was.
               "Hands up in the air, or the gunshot will be the last thing you'll ever hear," I yelled trying to make myself heard over the roar of the rain. I shook as I spoke, out of thrill, excitement, cold and most of all, fear. Fear of disappointment, of being branded a failure. The man however remained unaffected and unlocked the door. "Last warning, old man, raise your hands in the air, drop the keys and step aw-" but before I could finish my sentence a stream of bullets pierced the door, penetrating the body of the man and then mine. "I failed...." I thought as I fell on the ground, taking my last breaths. "I failed....."
               "Samantha, you failed, again," sighed Jacob, my instructor, as I took off the helmet and embraced the warmth of the room. "This is the third time today!"
               "I know, I know, I'm sorry," I replied with disappointment.
               "Well, never mind now. Relax your mind and come back tomorrow, we'll continue your training then, but next time, I shall not accept failure" Jacob told me.
               "Yes sir," I replied, getting off the chair, still cursing myself.