It's only fair to warn you - this is the most angsty thing I've ever written. I'm not sure where it came from, given the fact that I'm usually a pretty happy person. But it was in my head, so I had to get it out.

Also, this does contain character death and mention of suicide, for anyone who likes to avoid those things. Get ready for an angst-fest!

Tick.

Tick.

Back.

Forth.

I hate the sound. I hate the movement. It reminds me of times and things better left forgotten.

When I was little, my parents had me take piano lessons. It was 'just something all young girls should do', my mother would say. Proper. Right. Upstanding. Those were the things they wanted me to be. 'All cultured children play instruments.' 'It'll be good for you.' 'You'll love it, just watch.'

Big surprise – I didn't. It was dull. I hated my weekly practices, and I hated my parents for making me take them. I didn't see the point, to tell the truth. And the instructor clearly didn't like me – probably because she could tell I just plain didn't care.

I had a tendency to play too fast, whether from a desire to make it more fun or to get out of there more quickly, I still can't say. That was when my instructor got me the metronome. 'It'll help you keep tempo.' 'You want to play beautiful music, don't you?' 'Why don't you give it a try?'

Tick.

Tick.

For a while I heard the sound in my sleep. I was only eight years old, but it was maddening. Fortunately, the lessons didn't last long, since the instructor gave up on me after only a few months. But my parents, goody-goodies that they were, kept the piano in the hope that maybe someday I'd 'change my mind.' 'Understand.' 'See it their way.' Needless to say, that didn't exactly happen.

But now, looking back, do I wish it had?

Maybe.

Tick.

Tick.

My eyes dully follow the slow movement of the pendulum as I sit numbly on the old piano bench, ignoring the thick layer of dust that's gathered on its surface. Back and forth. Back and forth. It still works just like it did all that time ago, though I haven't touched the piano in almost ten years. It's like it's been keeping time all these years, slowing me down as I try desperately to rush toward the future. As I watch it, I wish somehow I could stop it – use it to halt time and go back to when things were simple. Back before everything crashed down around me and my life slowed to a muted, steady rhythm.

Back before the accident.

Tick.

Tick.

That was when the pendulum started, when everything changed. The funny thing is, I don't even remember the ghost's name. It was a random attack – gone horribly wrong. Sometimes I think maybe we could have stopped it. God knows we tried. Maybe I didn't have to lose my family that day. Maybe we could have saved everyone on the block from their unnecessary fate. Maybe I wouldn't have had to move into the foster center, and maybe Danny, Tucker and I would still be friends.

But apparently, time didn't want any of that stuff to happen.

When I think of Danny and Tucker, I think of how out of sync our tempos have become. Tucker has stayed the same, thanks to his parents. They force him to focus on his schoolwork, not the 'troubled classmates' who used to be his best friends. Thanks to them, I only ever see him in school – and even then, it's not like we talk anymore. I guess it's paid off, though – he's our class valedictorian, gets to give this big speech at graduation on Saturday and everything. I think he's going to some famous tech school next year, but like I said, we don't talk anymore. I want to miss him, but somehow I just can't bring myself to care that much. Not after all this time.

Danny, on the other hand, has sped up. I know he blamed himself for what happened, even though it wasn't his fault. After the accident, he sort of… distanced himself from us, me especially. He threw himself into ghost-fighting, probably vowing that nothing like the accident would ever happen again. Because of that, he started missing more and more classes, until earlier this year when he just stopped coming to school altogether. It was working to an extent, since ghost activity in Amity Park has been at an all-time low. But part of me knows it couldn't have been good for him. I really missed him, for a while. But when I needed him, he left me. Part of me still loves him, I know it, even after everything. Sometimes I think that's really the only thing I care about anymore.

As for me, all I've done is slow down. Life in the foster center is so different from life at home. There's no one to nag me or to order me around or to try to make me into a perfect little lady. It should be peaceful, but instead it's just boring. I go to class, I do my homework, I eat my meals, I sleep, and that's it. My life's become so slow and monotonous, ticking away like the pendulum on the metronome, denying any speed or excitement. I'm always alone, so I've stopped trying not to be. Does that make me cynical? I don't feel that way.

I guess… I don't really feel at all.

Tick.

Tick.

There's so much dust in the room. And why shouldn't there be? No one's lived here for over two years. Some parts of the house are still in ruins. I guess it's only fitting that the study is still standing – with the piano and metronome I used to hate so much now being some of the only ties I have left to my old home. I think time has had a sort of numbing effect on my heart, though. I look at the metronome and I sit at the piano and I don't feel hatred, I don't feel anger, I don't even feel sadness or regret. If anything, all I feel is tired.

And all I want is to stop time.

I think that's why I came back here. This house was where my life started, after all, so where else would I go at the end? It makes sense, doesn't it? It's natural. Proper. Right. I used to hate this place, but now I think it's the only place I feel safe, the only place I feel like I'm not alone.

Tick.

Tick.

Though, actually, I'm really not alone. I tear my eyes away from the constant movement of the pendulum and twist around on the bench, my gaze sliding across the floor to land on the person lying a few feet behind me. He'd come here looking for me, worried for me. I've become so used to just not feeling anything, it took me some time to realize I was actually happy he was here. I haven't seen him in person in a few weeks now, and haven't spoken with him in even longer. When he first saw me today, he'd looked so… sad.

He told me he was sorry, and that all this time he'd been afraid that I was angry with him. He said… that he wanted to fix things and go back to the way we were. Just like I do. I think he wanted to stop me, and that's why I told him to leave. But he didn't. And that was when I realized that I didn't want him to. I wanted there to be a way for us to just let go of the past and be together. And now, we can.

I feel a small, easy smile cross my face as I look at his eyes, dim blue orbs staring distantly at something he can no longer see. His messy black hair is mildly dampened by the blood staining the carpet, still flowing slowly from the small, identical wounds in the middle of his chest and back. I remember the look on his face earlier – he didn't understand. He couldn't see what I could, feel what I could. But I think deep down, we both wanted the same thing. Now he's free, and soon I will be too.

Tick.

Tick.

It's time that made us this way, I know as my fingers brush absently across the surface of the gun in my hand. It tore us apart and forced us into these lives where we don't belong. All I wanted was for time to stop. But like the pendulum, it just keeps tick tick tickingby. But not anymore.

Tick.

I turn around and swing my arm outward, knocking the metronome onto the floor and causing the pendulum to snap in half. The ticking vanishes, leaving the air soundless and still. The silence is so thick and deafening it seems to drown out the sound of my own breathing.

Quiet. Nothing. Empty. Just like my sad excuse for a life has become. I wanted time to stop, didn't I? Now I think maybe it has, and for some reason I can't take the absence of sound. I jam the barrel of the gun against my right temple over and over, trying to fight against the loud, deafening pressure that's closing in around me in the silence.

I barely even hear the gunshot.

Ho-jeez that was heavy. Sorry if I killed anyone's mood, heh heh.

But if you happened to not hate it, I'm currently working on a companion piece from Danny's point of view, which will sort of be like a direct prequel to this and give a bit more information on the backstory (I've got the whole development in my head, might as well be a bit more informative, right?).

UPDATE: It's done! Just finished a companion story that works as a prequel to this one. It's called Coda - head over to my profile page to check it out!

Review for me and tell me what you thought, pretty please? I'm not expecting a ton of love, this was just sort of something I wanted to get out of my head before it ate a hole in my brain, hahaha.

Thanks for reading! See y'all soon!

-oMM