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Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Jasmine sat on the couch in front of her family’s TV, the inner machinations of a clock ticking around in her head as she turned it to look outside the front window. Still nobody. She couldn’t see anybody walking down her driveway. She tapped her foot against the carpet, creating a muffled beat that kept itself in time with the clock ticking within her head. How long had she been waiting for? She decided to come down from her bed to the living room around five minutes ago so that when her guest arrived she’d be able to get to the door quickly (and because god knew that she didn’t want Julian to get to the door first), but it seemed that she had come down way too early since her guest still hadn’t appeared yet. 1:25. That was the time she saw on her laptop the moment before she came down here and.. God, five minutes had to have passed by now, right? She kept tapping her foot on the floor, the clock in her head slowly growing louder and louder with each passing beat.

She couldn’t take it anymore. She got up, off the couch, and started walking towards the kitchen. Her steps were brisk, loud, blind to everything around them. She had passed her cat on the way over there but she barely noticed it, not even reaching down for a quick stroke as it snoozed on one of the dining room chairs. She needed a real clock. She needed to make sure that she wasn’t slowly going insane with each tick bouncing through her head. The microwave. That had a pretty accurate clock, from what she recalled. Maybe it was a little fast but it generally wasn’t more than a minute or so ahead. She entered the kitchen, noticed the giant pile of dishes still unlocked (Julian’s responsibility, not hers) and turned towards the microwave’s clock.


Her guest was officially late.

She walked back into the living room, her steps slightly louder than before. Her guest was late. She didn’t know what that meant. They were probably running late or had misremembered the time but what if they weren’t actually coming? Wait, no, that wasn’t going to happen. She was going to come and Jasmine was going to give her a tour around the house and then they’d watch Sherlock and then they were going to head off to the park together and then they’d have a sleepover. They’d just have a time together where they didn’t have to worry about schoolwork or timetables or anything like that. She sat back down onto the couch, the ticking of the clock becoming slowly growing louder and louder as her eyes kept switching between the blank TV screen and the front window.

It was two minutes. They were two minutes late. She didn’t have to stress about this. Her guest was probably running low on time. It was nothing to worry about. In a couple of seconds she’d hear a rapping on the door that didn’t follow the beat of the ticking and then they’d have fun and she’d soon stop thinking about the goddamn ticking.

At least, that was what she hoped would happen. She had no idea how long it was going to take at this rate.
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Oh, it's so sad to think about the good times, you and I... · Memories from the Past