a/n: not fact, not fiction. you decide.


There is a clock in my room. The constant ticking reminds me of everything I have to do; haven't done; did. It's pretty old (IKEA. Like most stuff is.) but it's become a part of my life.

tick, tock goes the clock. I can only hear it loud and clear when I'm in that not-quite-there place of half-sleep and awaking. Otherwise, it's just a backdrop for me to build my life around.

Nowadays, the clock is starting to show signs of wear and tear. It's a miracle it survived this long, actually. Ikea's hardy. But not very pretty.

You know the white clock with black numbers - very fuss-free? That's the one.

More recently, the paper lining inside tore after a really bad storm. And yes, I do live inside but the clock is right above a ventilator (which doesn't explain anything but I don't really care).

I guess it's just an analogy to my life. Or, more accurately, my parents' life. See, they dislike each other.

Oh, did I say dislike? I meant their marriage is breaking apart quicker than a bridge of sand with my sister and me holding it together. Or maybe they actually do like each other! A girl can hope, right?

But the last ties are going to break soon. And then what happens? I don't know.

Maybe I'm just reading too much into things. I mean, the twice-weekly fights might be normal. I don't know, they're my family.

Most of all, I'm scared about what'll happen when it totally breaks apart. When I was eight, I asked my mother if they would divorce.

(i was a childhood prodigy. feel free to praise me)

My mum said they wouldn't, at least not until I turn (age).

I am not telling you my age. Get over it.

Then my sister was born and, well, new hope! It seemed to be going better for the best part of six months, but it didn't last. Yes, the fighting stopped but that was probably because they didn't want my sister to cry.

And I'll be turning (age) soon. I don't want to know what happens after that.

You know, I don't think I could stand it if my parents separate. I love both of them, even if they get irritating at times. With separation, I'd have to choose who to live with because I cannot shuttle back and forth everyday. And I couldn't choose; I'm far too indecisive.

There's a pretty shocking bit right here: my sister finds the shouting normal. When I was younger, I'd huddle in the bed and hope to heaven that the bloody noise would stop.

She's five, by the way.

I feel a bit guilty sometimes. There's always this ever-present question ringing around my head: Is it my fault?

Truth be told, I don't know.

And there's the question of remarriage. Of all things, remarriage would be the most painful thing ever. To have a stepparent? You'll have to like them. What if I don't?

And I probably won't, seeing as they're my parent's new partners.

New kids? I'd rather die.

I had a bad enough time when my sister was a baby. A new person, someone who's not even related to me completely, would just be rude. And pretty hurtful.

And I don't know why I'm writing this. But I had to.

tick, tock

There's the clock again. As long as it still works, I can try to hope for the best.

I think.