Title: Virtues of Patience

Rating: PG

Prompt: Hours

Table: Other

Summary: And the hours keep coming, no matter what, while she waits for the call she's sure will never come.

The hours were the hardest for her to bear because they went so slowly (tick-tock-tick-tock on and on and on and it just wouldn’t stop). They took up so much time, but when she looks over her shoulder, she sees that three hours have passed already (funny thing time).

It’s agonizing, really it is, because by now four hours (or is it five) have passed and there is no one there and everything is silent except for the sounds of that stupid clock counting down the minutes to the next hour. The shadows of the house are starting to scare her and she’s not even sure where they’re from (and she distantly remembers Mommy saying that there was no monster under her bed but that was a long time ago but Mommy isn’t here right now and she’s downright terrified).

She’s staring at the clock again, for lack of anything better to do (and they’re still not home). Another hour passes and she can’t help but jump a little as the clock starts chiming, counting up the hours she’s been sitting there, waiting patiently for who knows what. She’s forgotten by now and she’s so tired because it’s already one o’ clock in the morning and there still hasn’t been news from either of them (and she won’t allow herself to ask why).

The ticking resumes as she imagines the accident in her mind. Her father’s frantic voice is still clear in her mind, telling her not to worry that everything was going to be fine (sounding, all the while, like he was trying to convince himself more so than her). Even though she wasn’t there, she could hear the squeal of the tires skidding across the pavement, releasing a burnt rubber smell. The windshield shattered into a million pieces as her mother flew through it, damaging her already fragile body even more (and she curls into a ball and tries not to think about it, doesn’t want to think about it).

It’s been so many hours now and she’s so tired. The ticking creates a soothing lullaby and even the chimes don’t bother her anymore. She wanders in an area between sleep and consciousness as the clock continues to count down the seconds, minutes, hours. The light is steadily getting brighter beyond the curtains, but she ignores it, preferring to stay curled up on the cold leather couch (and it’s so cold and empty and even the dawn can’t chase away the shadows behind her eyes because some deeper part of her knows how this night is going to end).

Then the phone rings and she instantly snaps awake. It’s not her father, but it’s not a doctor either (and she’s thankful for that, at least). It’s a random nobody that she doesn’t care to listen to (because she’s got her own problems and her life is falling apart at the seams).

The hours keep ticking by and it’s morning by now. She’s so tired, waiting for this phone call she’s sure will never come (and it’s sad and lonely being abandoned). And the phone finally rings again, but she doesn’t bother to pick it up. She knows it’s not her father on the other line but doctors and policemen (and she doesn’t want to listen to them say they’re sorry). As she drifts away into a dreamland without cars and cold, leather sofas, she realizes she doesn’t mind the ticking of the clock anymore (because it’s actually kind of comforting now, watching it slide through each hour, knowing the hours will keep coming, no matter what).