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