EL VENADO

I find myself staring at the grandfather clock more often than I'd like to admit. If I'm quiet enough and breathe ever so deeply, I can feel the ticking of the pendulum align just right with the beating of my heart. There was a time this calmed me, even brought comfort to me, but now my heart falls behind as the pendulum keeps on swinging. Once, twice, thrice.
The walls that made the corridor were haunted with the varnished immortality of a dozen paintings. The echo of the clock bounced off them and I felt as they glanced back to the calling. Waiting, listening, counting. But what for . . . and why now?
"How long has it been there, the grandfather clock?" I jumped surprised by the sudden intrusion, but I could never stay mad at Inocencia for long. Her wide brown eyes admired the details round the face of the clock, but it seemed to me she was bothered by the constant ticking of the pendulum.