Note to reviewers: This story was written with specific formatting that unfortunately can't be translated into this text field. Given that this week's story prompt called for a focus on form and structure, it would have been good to be able to upload a file to actually show that form and structure. I would like at least an opportunity to upload a pdf to show how this story is meant to be formatted. Thank you.

07

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…and realise I’m going to be late. Mummy says I have to be home before dark. I’m not scared of the dark or anything. I’m very brave you know, much braver than Mummy, because she always worries a lot.

‘I better get going,’ I say to my best friend, Michelle.

I pick up my skateboard and walk down the street towards home. I hope we’re having peas for dinner. I love peas. Michelle’s having a barbeque, but I’m not allowed to stay this time. It’s a school night.

14

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…and I hope Dad will be late. He’s coming to pick us up and I haven’t even packed yet. Packing, unpacking, always moving, here and there, never knowing what’s where. I hate it. I hate my life. I want to die. My step mum is a witch. She hates me, and I don’t even know why. She thinks I’m a bad influence on her kids or something. I dunno. What would she know. She’s a cruel idiot. I never want to go there again.

Mum says she needs a break from us kids fighting all the time though, so she makes us go there. I hate Mum. Rules. RULES. RULES! That’s why I always sneak out at night and do what I want to do. Nobody rules me!

21

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…because I’m due on stage any minute. Azure feathers splay in plumes from my corset with the Swarovski diamonds I lovingly handstitched into it.

Fat Freddy gave me my own show, you know. All the other girls have to wear watches so they know when to be at their tables, but not me. Nope. I’m the main attraction now. I get the stage! The strict table schedule I’ve always hated is not in my diary anymore; I’m off that list!

I’m taller than all the other girls, especially with my stiletto heels—hollow to store my tips. I’m waiting behind the curtain now, just off stage. I’m ready…

…and the MC announces: ‘Introducing — the seductive — the alluring — Cinnamon Spice!’

28

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…and I hurry my daughter along.

‘Come on Abigail, hurry up. Grandad’s looking after you again tonight, and we need to get going.’

‘But I don’t want to go, Mama, I just want to stay here with you.’

‘Mama has to work baby, so I can buy you all those pretty dresses.’

She’s all of five and unfortunately has more to worry about than I did at that age.

Her strawberry blonde curls fall down her shoulders as she struggles with her backpack.

‘Where’s Mr Spotty?’ I ask her.

She pulls her stuffed giraffe out from under a cushion, wraps him in a baby blanket and cradles him by the front door.

‘That’s my berry curl, my Abigail girl, he’ll keep you safe through the night.’

35

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…as all the lights go out.

I might not be the youngest girl at the club anymore, but the 20-somethings are permanently jealous of me because I’m still the club’s favourite. I’m on all the posters and the website. I get the promo gigs over them every time, coz I’ve got the edge.

I quietly position myself on the stage in the smoky blackness, and then BANG the lights go on and all the eyes in the room are on me. I know I am adored, as I grind and whirl under the lights, glowing like a goddess, blazing through the night in smouldering beauty. I give them a show they’ll never forget.

42

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…then I look at Abigail, who is anxious to get going.

‘Mum, we’re going to be late! AGAIN!’ Abigail says.

Sunday lunch at Dad’s has become a bit of a tradition.

‘You’re always in such a hurry, Abby. Take a chill pill.’

My head is pounding and I’m sure last night’s makeup is moving like midnight down my cheeks.

The industry has really taken its toll. Time isn’t kind. I drag myself out of bed, throw my hair up into a knot and fall into some clothes. Sunday lunch after a long night at the 'office'? That I could do without.

49

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…because two of the girls are late on shift. That’s my clock now. I own it. Own the wall it hangs on. Own the ground that supports it. My clock.

Mick and Eddie walk up the stairs and greet me. They’ve been coming here for years. Mick often takes me out to Tony’s caf for breakfast after closing—5 am—and long before the rest of the world wakes up. I’ve spent most of my life in the shadows, awake while others sleep. So much so that I sometimes forget what sunshine looks like.

This club has been my life. A life Mum never approved of, but there you go, it wasn’t her life to live.

56

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…and I haven’t even heard the birds yet. I’m usually awake at this hour, but not tonight. Tonight, I slept. Slept through Abigail’s labour. Slept through the first cries of my grandbaby who is now one hour old. She’s a night owl too.

I hang up the phone and hurriedly get dressed. Driving to the hospital, I wonder how it will feel to hold the next generation in my arms.

63

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…and the funeral director asks me which casket I’d like. I’m in bits.

Abigail has been my rock through all of this and answers for me. ‘Grandad’s favourite colour is red. We need to paint one,’ she says.

Dad passed away three nights ago and I’m struggling to come to terms with it. I’m an orphan now. A 63-year-old orphan. Who knew they existed? I never thought I’d ever be an orphan. I wish I’d spent more time with him now. Time. I guess that’s all we ever have.

70

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…and I wonder where it all went.

I look at the clock

…at her fine, inflexible hands going round and round. Those hands never change their pace or presence, but when I look down at my own hands, well, they tell a different story.

I look at the clock

…at her round, perky face. She is stoic, enduring the test of time. Never changing. I look from her face to my own, like two pendulums moving out of sync. Who is she, looking back at me?

77

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…and I know it’s time for bed. The dusk is long gone, and my little unit is but a silhouette in the moonlight.

I just got home from my grandbaby’s 21st birthday party. How, out of my darkness, did such light spring. That next generation—such an improvement!

84

Tick Tock

I look at the clock

…as the nurse comes in with an Arc de Triomphe smile on her face.

‘Why are you so cheery today?’ I ask.

‘I’m going to have a baby,’ she says as she rubs her flat little belly.

I remember when I first found out I was pregnant, and the sense of dread that accompanied it. I don’t share this with the nurse, but rather I smile and tell her, ‘how lovely’.

And I think back to the time when life was simple, and all I had to worry about was where I left my skateboard.

91

Tick Tock

I don’t look at the clock

…as the priest recites viaticum.

I’m hearing my own last rites, layered over the top of Abigail's crying. They don’t know I can hear them because my eyes are closed and I’m not moving.

I think I’ve done alright. I made it through the night. My great-grandfather was about 90 when he left this world. My grandmother made it to 95, and her sister celebrated 100 years, and even got a letter from the Queen! I won’t get that far though.

I can feel a cross being drawn on my forehead, ‘Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.’

Then he anoints my hands, ‘May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.’

Does he know my sins? Would he try to save my soul if he really knew? I’ve never been a religious person, so I don’t know if this will save my soul or not. It can’t hurt, right? Hopefully, thanks to this priest, I will have provision for my last journey.

I am moving into my final darkness…

…is that the time?

Yes, it’s time.