The clock had been ticking for days. Its seconds ran down like grains of sand, pouring slowly from the top of an unseen hourglass. There was no escape. The world outside, once alive with the hum of people and the frantic energy of a modern civilization, had quieted into a deathly stillness. The glass was cracked now, a deep fissure running through it, but the ticking continued.
No one really understood how or why it started. People had speculated, of course. It didn't take much to form a theory when the air was heavy with tension and dread.
Some said it was the machines—the tech we couldn't live without had finally turned on us. Others whispered that the end was the result of some long-forgotten sin, a punishment unleashed after years of neglecting the earth.
Still others pointed to the skies, to the stars, as though they had always been waiting for the perfect moment to end it all.
In a small, deserted house, nestled on the edge of a crumbling town, Maxine sat by a window, her back to the wall. The ticking was constant now. It had been constant for days, if not weeks. The hours bled into one another; the calendar was irrelevant. She had long since stopped counting. She had no reason to count.
She knew that every tick, every moment, brought the world closer to its end. But what did it matter anymore? Everything had already died. The last of the electricity had flickered out two days ago.
The air smelled faintly of decay, of something forgotten, something that couldn't be saved. Even the sun seemed to be growing dimmer, as though it too were tired of the endless march toward some inevitable, unknown conclusion.
Maxine was alone. She hadn't seen another soul for days. Her family had left before the clock reached its final hour. They thought they could outrun it. They thought they could escape whatever it was that had begun this slow, cruel countdown. But they couldn't.
She had seen the burning wrecks of their cars, the skeletons of the roads that once led to freedom. She knew they had failed. She knew they were gone.
She wasn't sure why she stayed behind. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Either way, it didn't matter. She stayed. She waited.
The clock in the corner of the room, an ancient thing, its wood cracked and worn, had never been kind. Its hands hadn't moved in years. But the sound of the ticking? That had never stopped.
Even after the batteries had died, after the clock itself had fallen silent, the ticking had kept going. It was as if the world itself had been trapped inside that tiny mechanism, each tick a reminder of its own impending collapse.
Maxine's fingers trembled as they brushed the glass of the window. The wind outside had picked up, but there were no leaves left to rustle. No birds. No life.
She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the glass, feeling the chill seep into her skin. The ticking had become a pulse, a heartbeat that echoed in the silence. It seemed to grow louder, more insistent, as though it were calling to her, pulling her toward something.
But what? What was left?
The last humans had been scattered like dust, gone, erased from existence. The only thing left now were the remnants of their world. Buildings crumbled to dust. Cars rusted in empty streets. And the endless ticking. Always the ticking.
Maxine's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her own name.
"Maxine."
It wasn't a voice she recognized. It wasn't anyone she had ever known. It was a hollow sound, like a distant memory, calling to her from somewhere she couldn't see. She stood, heart racing, and turned slowly to face the door. She didn't know why she expected someone to be there. The house had been empty for so long.
"Maxine," the voice repeated, and this time it was closer.
Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't heard anyone. Not in days. Not since the last time her family had left. She wanted to scream, but her voice caught. Her throat felt dry. She swallowed, her eyes darting to the door, then to the window. There was no one. Nothing outside but the empty, dying world.
But then the ticking stopped.
It stopped suddenly, completely, as though the world itself had held its breath. The silence that followed was suffocating. Maxine stood still, frozen in place, listening. She could hear nothing. No wind. No animals. Nothing at all.
Her legs moved of their own accord, dragging her toward the door. She reached for the handle, but something stopped her. A shadow crossed the threshold. Not outside, but inside. It moved slowly, as though it were still unsure of its own existence. The air seemed to tremble with the pressure of its presence.
"Maxine," the voice came again, this time from behind her, as though it had been standing there the whole time, waiting.
She turned. But there was nothing. The room was still empty. Still silent.
The ticking returned. It wasn't loud this time. It was soft, like a heartbeat fading away, leaving only the hollow echo of something lost.
Maxine closed her eyes, breathing slowly, her hands trembling as she gripped the doorframe. Her mind was racing, but there was nowhere to go. Nothing to escape.
It was only then that she noticed the clock again. The glass was gone. All that was left was the ticking, relentless and slow, counting down the seconds.
And then, suddenly, it stopped.
For a moment, everything was still. She couldn't hear anything. She couldn't move. Her body felt frozen, like the world around her had disappeared entirely.
A cold, sharp pain ran through her chest, and she gasped for breath. She staggered back, her heart pounding in her ears. The ticking had stopped. The world had stopped.
But there was something worse. Something far worse.
Something had reached inside her. She didn't know when. She didn't know how. But she could feel it, a coldness creeping into her bones. Her skin crawled. Her breath caught. It was inside her, eating her from the inside out.
Maxine screamed, but it was a hollow scream. It didn't reach anyone. It didn't matter.
The world around her began to unravel. The walls shook. The floor cracked. The air twisted, folding in on itself as if the fabric of reality itself was tearing apart. The ticking resumed, but now it was deafening, its rapid beat pounding like a drum in her skull.
And then, she understood.
She understood everything.
The ticking was the sound of the end. The slow, inevitable march of the hourglass, counting down to the destruction of everything. It was the sound of time running out, of existence collapsing in on itself. And she was a part of it. She always had been.
The door slammed open. She could hear it, but she didn't see it. She didn't see anything anymore. There was no room. No house. No world. There was only the ticking.
Maxine staggered forward, her body twisted, contorted in agony. She could feel it—whatever it was—inside her, consuming her, erasing her.
The ticking grew louder. Faster. It was endless, never stopping, never slowing. It was the heartbeat of the world, the death of everything, and she was at the center of it.
And then, just as the clock struck its final second, she was gone.