Clockwork, it's funny how such a thing works. When you're a child you don't notice it much, all you know is you can run around outside until the sun goes down, not a care in the world. When you're a little bit older you can start to hear how much each swing of the minute hand really counts, and when you're in war, the second hand.
The second hand that tells you how much longer you've survived and how much less you have to live, such an important noise that tic-toc is. Sometimes I can hear the bullets go in tune to the second hand, hitting metal the ricochet that only tells me I've survived another round, another magazine, another shot.
The shattering glass is what first made me think about these things. I couldn't tell at first if it was my watch or the one of the many windows that had given way to the hail. I ducked down, taking the glancing moment to listen to the tic-toc, just to remind myself I'm alive and someone waits for me away from the fire fights. Nothing was there but grenades going off and the bullets such as the one now lodged in the gears of it. It hastily pull it off, taking a moment to look at it. The silver frame brings me back to him, and his kitchen, smelling of tomatoes.
I never really thought he liked tomatoes as much as I did but the dumbass put on the show so I was happy. I would never let him know I was though, god that seems like the dumbest thing I could have done. I was such a jackass. I want to back to the kitchen and stare up at the clock, waiting for my meal. Tic…. Toc…. Now I'm just whispering to myself the worst goddamn idea I ever had.
Tic… Toc… Tic…. Toc… I feel the bullets whizz just by my head and bring closer to the ground trying not to focus on the person who just fell on top of me, they smell like death, and tears. Mostly death. Tic… Toc… I want to smell tomatoes and pasta again. I want to look up at him and tell him he's an incompetent idiot which both know means thank you.
I want to say his name. His real name, not what we use at those things you can barely call Summits. But in truth, I don't think I'll ever be able to. Not at this rate. Tic… Toc… I'm still whispering to myself I think I'm going crazy. I feel my legs and arms work without me thinking about it. I'm going backwards, away from the danger. Like the coward I really am. Act tough and they won't know doesn't apply in this situation. Not that it was ever something that worked.
Goddammit I'm a dumbass. I'm crawling through alleyways, backwards. Now I'm slowly moving sideways. Running away from my problems as usual, trying to get away, back out. Whatever the hell you want to call it.
Tic… Toc… It's no wonder he doesn't want to be near me. I'll never protect anyone. Not my brother, not myself and especially not him… Never him, I'll never be able to protect what I hold most dear. My caretaker, my Spain… no Antonio.
A/N So here's a little something I threw together after memorizing a monologue. Cork, out.