Tick tick tick.
Tick tick tick.
Tick tick tick.
That's kind of annoying.
Tick tick tick.
Whatever happened to tock?
Tick tick tick.
Isn't this clock digital? Why the hell is it even making that noise?
Tick tick tick.
Oh, that's right. I set it like that.
Tick tick tick.
What time is it?
Tick tick tick.
My neck cracked as I craned my head towards the clock. It's 4:45. I'm up before the alarm. I'm always up before this god forsaken piece of crap nowadays.
There used to be a time, when this waste of space was my number one enemy. It would rip me violently out of my dreams and throw me back into a reality painfully different from the one behind my face. I used to hate it, now I don't care.
But a few years ago, I realized this freak of nature was much like me. In some strange, cosmic way. We both follow a routine set by those greater than our own existence. We almost never deviate from this schedule, no matter how insufferable it is. It's our job, we are expected to do so. Whether we follow that schedule or not, someone will always be there to yell at us, beat us, or throw us across the room.
To put it simply, we're both pieces of shit.
I think it sucks, being an alarm clock. Everybody hates you for doing what you were created to do. That's why I became this alarm clock's acquaintance.
...
Me?
What about me?
My name?
I don't know my name, I don't need to know. It's not time to go to get up yet. So I don't need an identity.
I'm a dysfunctional alarm clock. I don't follow my schedule properly, I'm constantly on the fritz. When a person talks to me, I'm most likely going to say the worst thing possible. Or simply not talk at all.
What's my problem?
Why am I on the fritz you ask?
They didn't wire me properly at the factory. My hardware is just a bundle of data chips and open ended wires. Can't you see the sparks in my eyes? My numbers are frozen in place.I don't tick or tock, my buttons are missing. My alarm doesn't go off. At least I don't think so.
I guess in a nicer way, the big clock maker in the sky didn't put as much love and care in making me. Unlike the rest of the perfectly functioning big bens and holographic clocks in this world. But it gave me superpowers. An enhanced awareness.
Sounds stupid right?
But trust me, I'm not crazy. The rest of the world is just insane. It repeats itself over and over and over, and expects to get different results. The world is blind to it's own faults.
But not me, I can see everything that is wrong with it. Everything that's wrong with myself.
And it disgusts me.
I'm like the rain man gone wrong.
4:59, Wednesday November 12, 2021. Arendelle, Norway.
My break is almost over in—4.
3.
2.
1.
59.
58.
My alarm clock buzzed and beeped to life. My fist came down like the little hammer of judgment in court. It whined and creaked under the sheer force. It's not my fault, it had it coming. It was two seconds late. I said I was like an alarm clock, I never said I was it's friend.
Oh, you're still here.
...
I thought my rant about alarm clocks would scare you away.
Do you still want to know my name? I just remembered, right on time too.
...
I'll tell you anyway, so you won't refer to me as the alarm clock freak to your friends.
My name is Anna Jacobs.
I am biologically 16 years old.
I am of the female sex.
And I am a dysfunctional alarm clock.
...
No I'm not an actual fucking alarm clock. I'm 162 centimeters of flesh and prepubescent stupidity. I wish I was an alarm clock though, sometimes. So much wouldn't be expected of me then, I'd only have to work approximately 20 minutes per day; counting all the times my father hits the snooze button.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. The only light came from my jellyfish aquarium mounted on my desk and the alarm clock on the nightstand. It casts stark shadows and dim light on the mess that is my room.
I love jellyfish. They're beautiful yet simple.
Literally you couldn't walk 3 steps with out kicking up a dirty shirt or possibly smooshing oil pastel into the wood floor. I tugged my hood over my head and trudged out of my room. I have a thing for sleeping in only a hoodie and some boy shorts. Nothing else. No bras. I hate bras. My dad used to get worked up over it, but now he just doesn't give a fuck.
The bathroom lights flickered on as I entered. Pretty cool right? It's simple but useful. I stared at the mirror, for a while. I don't know who this person is. It's not time yet.
This person has dead looking eyes and a heart shaped face. Despite her age and malnutrition, baby fat still clung to her cheeks. Her freckles stood out like scars against her clammy pale skin. The dark rims and bags under her eyes did not help at all. This alarm clock is obviously broken. If only she wasn't, then just maybe she could pass as pretty—4.
3.
2.
1.
I pressed my finger against the bottom right corner of the mirror. My fingerprint was scanned quickly before I pulled away.
A soothing female voice sounded from the reflective metal, "Good morning Anna. O-o-on time a-as always." Oh, that person is me.
Ugly.
The mirror glided open with a soft click. 3 rows of medication and 3 toothbrushes lined up neatly in the sanitation cabinet. "I have r-re-received an update on your schedule for today."
Deviations.
I don't like deviations.
This sentient is Gerda. She is the house psych. Basically she keeps track of our mental health and transfers the data into government database. It's how they keep track of psychopaths and mentally sick citizens. As you can see, she's on the fritz too.
I started mixing together my daily cocktail of meds in a plastic cup. One for iron, two vitamin supplements, three pills for depression, and one for anxiety. "Anna, you missed two bottles."
The pills they make teenagers take and the pills specifically for me. My "Anna" pills. I added water to the mix, " No I did not, your software is glitch again Gerda." They're placebos, they don't really work. There is nothing in the world that can correct the wrongs in my genetic code.
"Oh, my apologies then."
Stupid AI. The government didn't put much love and care into making you either, did they? That's okay, we can be neglected together.
Not everybody in Arendelle has a house psych because not everybody is considered a full fledged citizen. About 48% percent of the population does not meet the requirements. Arendelle is a big place, it takes up most of Norway. At least the part that is usable. Most of it is flooded. The land I call home is partially under water.
I threw my head back and swallowed the nasty concoction whole. God I hate medicine. After brushing my teeth I swung the mirror shut. My schedule for the day appeared on the metal surface. At least the basic structure.
6:30-15:00 Acedemy.
(click for class schedule)
15:05- Leave Acedemy.
(click to check route)
15:30-16:30 Community Service.
(Click for more detail)
16:35-18:45 - Free rec.
(Click for recommendations)
19:00-20:00 - Appointment
(x)
Maybe Gerda had too many plugs in her sockets. I don't see any deviations. I narrowed my eyes at the small (x) under the 19:00 Appointment. I'm suppose to go everyday, but I only go once a week.
I don't like the shrink.
They brainwash people into thinking they're broken. If broken, repairable. Then they try to fix things but only end up making things worse. Like covering a gaping hole in the ground with an expensive rug.
Why an expensive rug?
Because we both know damn well that you could feed a small family with the amount of money a person has to pay a week.
Now, what if someone just happens to walk over that rug? Or a big ass rock happens to fall right on top of it?
...
Yeah, pointless. You're just creating a bigger problem my covering a smaller problem.
I tapped on the small (x).
(. .-. ..-.. .- -... .- - .- -
/ -. .. .-. .- ..-. ..-. .)
Something is tugging and warm. In my chest and on my face. Oh, I'm smiling. That's what it is. My schedule is deviating greatly.
But this time I like it.
I love it.
Because she is the only exception that I allow.
...
Why?
Who's she?
She is my hamartia. My tragic flaw.
...
Obviously she's important, such stupid questions you ask.
...
Well, I believe stupid questions exist.
...
Why is she my hamartia?
I'm surprised you know what a hamartia is. It's... abnormal. It'll just give you another reason to call me a freak. Don't lie, I know I'm weird.
...
I'm not a tragic hero. At least not in my eyes.
...
Do I really care about weird?
No, not really.
I stripped off my clothes and stepped inside the shower unit, "Gerda, play New Born by Muse." I'm 78 seconds behind schedule. I don't like it.
"I heard New Born by Muse, do you confirm?"
"Yes Gerda."
...
Do you really want to know?
...
Why? Fuck. Such a nosy person.
...
That's true... Alright then.
My name is Anna Jacobs.
I am biologically 16 years old.
And I love my older half sister.
Not that admiration love.
Siscon love.
The type of love that gets you horny and makes you want to fight a seven nation army for that chick. The type of love that makes your knees weak and sets your heart ablaze.
I'm in love with my sister.
And that disgusts me.
Love disgusts me, to be more clear.
But hey, I'm a dysfunctional alarm clock. I was built this way.
Blame my creator for all my loose wires.
It's only a matter of time before my alarm goes off, and someone slams a fist over my cranium.
I shouldn't tell you, but what is the harm?
You don't exist, at least not here. Maybe in another life.
But not here.
And that's how I like it.
So! Here you go. I just wanted to play with the idea. I might continue this if you guys want me to. I'm not sure what to call this Anna, would she be considered Cold!Anna? Onion!Anna? I dunno ^ ^;; Though it is not my main story, so it'll get updated... whenever.