Meg's Tale

The following is an excerpt from an untitled short story I wrote sometime ago for a class. The assignment was to write something that evoked a mood. I'll leave it to you to tell me if it worked or not.



The three of them sat in a lavishly decorated room. A large living room, it’s walls were filled with shelves and books and lights of different shapes and sizes. An old grandfather clock stood alone pushed into a corner. Under normal conditions the room was warm and bright. Now it was cold and bitter, dark and silent. The only light that was on came from the chandelier hanging high in the center of the room, above the soft, blue corner couch that had been placed there strategically. The couch now sat two bodies at opposite ends. A cold wind blew in from the open window, tossing the curtains about and sending shivers up and down the bodies of everyone in the room. No one stood to shut it. No one even spoke. The only sound was that of the clock steadily ticking away the seconds from behind the recliner on which Megan was sitting.
Even though it was to her back, Meg could see the clock clearly in her eye. She saw the mahogany wood, darkened from the years that had passed it by, and it’s tainted brass pendulum swaying to and fro. At one time Meg had found the constant ticking soothing to her. Now she ground her teeth and clenched her jaw, thinking that the clock was much like her--alone and pushed into a corner. She looked up slowly from where she had been staring at her feet and glanced at her friends. "They are too ashamed to speak to me," she thought miserably to herself. "I can’t blame them."
Jason was sitting on the couch opposite her, staring at the ground and scowling. He balled his right hand tightly into a fist and smashed it into the palm of his left hand repeatedly. The slapping sound of flesh upon flesh caused Meg to wince and turn her eyes to Rachael. She was sitting as far from Jason as the couch allowed. Her face was contorted and her eyes far away. Rachael had noticed Megan’s movement and looked over at her.
"Meg…," came her soft, sympathetic voice, nearly choking as she tried to speak.
"No!" Meg blurted, breaking the tension that had been enveloping them. "Shut up!" she scolded, jumping to her feet so violently the chair that had seated her toppled over backwards. "Shut up! I know what you’d say! I know what you’d say." She was frantic and shaking, carrying on more like a child of eight than a young woman of twenty.
"That’s it," Jason suddenly interrupted his voice was cold. He began to stand up. "I’m going to kill him." His eyes caught the pleading look cast at him by Rachael and he stopped.
Meg had turned around and was staring bitterly at the clock in front of her. Her own eye caught her reflection in the glass and she frowned in disgust. Leaning forward she brushed a dark brown lock of hair away from her eye and stared at the ugly, blue and black bruise over her brow. She thought it suited her. She pouted her lip and turned her head to see better the bloody gash that had formed, split upon her teeth when she had been struck. She studied it intensely as the pendulum swayed and her friends exchanged glances.
"You have to tell someone, Meg." Jason reasoned softly. "You have to."
"Shut-UP!" Meg punctuated her word with a sudden, violent hand that smashed through the glass front of the clock with a deafening shatter. She seized the pendulum and ripped it free of its suspension. Turning around she held it out to her friends triumphantly with a smile beaming on her battered face. "See," she said as tears began to run freely down her cheeks like the blood trickling from the fresh cuts on her hand and arm. "It just needed to be broken. Like me. Now it’s better. It’s all better. Who can love it now?"
She laughed even as sobs began to rake her body, a horrible sound escaping from her lips. Her friends rushed to her side. She fell upon the floor and buried her face in her hands allowing the blood and tears to mingle freely. Who could love her now?
-end-

Your thoughts?