From the top of the hotel I managed to sneak into, I could see everything. Like a great tree, the city was stretched before me, gray sun-cracked roads branching out and suddenly ending at the start of the woods. That was my goal, to go there, away from my miserable home. Despite the fact that I should have felt joy at the sight, I could not stop thinking about my so-called “family.” I could not stop remembering my step dad before me. I saw the dark, cramped storage cabinet where I slept, and the box-like TV constantly blocked by his large figure. I heard his growl of annoyance, “Give me food now ya skinny sausage or I’ll eat you myself!” I smelled the stench of alcohol lingering on everything he touched. I remembered the broken bottles on the floor, the sound of wild owls screeching every night. I remembered the fear I felt as I lay trembling in my cabinet, wishing for dreams to come. And then I was back in the moment as I remembered the joy of being outside. The joy of leaving.

I gazed out past the city and into the forest when something caught my eye. Something made of wood, something large enough I could see it from here. My curiosity took over, and I sauntered past the apartment’s front desk and out of the main door, trying to look like I was up to nothing. Halfway down the road, I stopped, realizing that I had no money and no food. The local grocery store was across the road from me, and I noticed the side door open. “I shouldn’t be doing this…” Arguing with myself and thinking about the long run, I decided to sneak around and grab some bread, after all. I was tired of being hungry. Making my way towards the looming forest, I thought about what I was doing and that I was doing it by myself. I knew that I wanted to be strong enough to do this alone. Strong enough to step into the forest without looking back. Strong enough to keep calm while navigating this green mass of forgotten trees. Trees that whispered silently to me. Trees that slowly grew less dense as I blindly wandered, hoping to find something that would help me, something that would change my terrible life. Something that would protect me. Something that– a house. That’s what it was. A shabby, abandoned, forgotten house.

It was perfect. It creaked when I stepped on the stairs, again when I opened the door. The shattered windows illuminated the dust particles floating over the barren bed and scratched table. I stared in the silence. Well, almost silence. A small tick echoed off the dirty walls, belonging to a worn grandfather clock standing in the corner. Its rusted gold parts glowed in the sunlight. A thought hit me: I could stay here. I looked around at the house again. I would stay here. Through one of the windows, the sun was starting to set; and there was still a lot to do.

Then began the cleaning process. Slowly, by nightfall, the room looked slightly more respectable. There was no light anymore, but I found my way to the bed and stared at the ceiling, looking back at the day. I drifted to sleep with the safe feeling of being away from everything and everyone. In the morning, I was cleaning again, the strokes of the broom in time with the clock’s ticking. The thick layer of dust began to disappear. Later that morning, the dust faded almost entirely. At noon, I ate my food for the day; the remains of the bread. The food didn’t settle my hunger, but it would be enough. That afternoon, I wandered around the forest, keeping an eye on the house. Evening now, and I was exploring the other rooms of the small house. Night, rocked to sleep by the clock’s steady clicks. Morning, finished fixing the furniture. Noon, playing in the forest and climbing the trees. Evening, returning to the house and starting to rest. Night, drifting to sleep.  Then I awoke suddenly, started to breathe heavily, my ragged breaths over that continual ticking sound; wondering.  Who had been winding the grandfather clock this entire time?