Ficlets

“I know how you feel. Trust me. I know. Just take those feelings out on these clocks. Don’t let time drive you. Deal with it.” He handed me a giant rubber mallet. “C’mon. I know you can do it.”

“Help me, please,” I pleaded. We each took a mallet and began the massacre. Imagine the gopher game you used to play. You’d think it was something like that, but it was nothing compared to reality. Hunter and I ran around chasing clocks, mashing them to the ground. The metals would bend first, then the glass shattered. Springs, screws, and plastic parts flew out of it. For the longest time, I felt exactly like that—like I was broken and a whole bunch of screws and springs were loose, bent, missing.