An hour passes, but little changes. Most everyone flees the house, aside from the young children and their mother. No one bothers to speak to me apart from an awkward woman as she leaves:
"What time is it?" she asks, barely even glancing at me. What a ludicrous question! It deserves an appropriate answer, I decide.
I respond, "Are you blind, young woman?"
"It's quarter 'til eight, Mom! I have to leave now!" Throwing open the door, its knob strikes the wall, breaking away a piece of wooden floorboard. She rushes out, totally indifferent of the damage she has done.
I prepare myself for the next encounter with the selfish residents of this house. Not surprisingly, I hear the din of a child plowing its way towards me.
Crawling on all fours, he screams, "Choo, choo!" He leaps into the air, and I feel the pressure of a plastic toy thrown at me.
"I'm so sorry, Grandma." He says, clearly lacking true remorse.
Don't call me that."
The monstrous child jolts again to his hands and knees, taking hold of my leg. In his obnoxious giggle, "I got your leg, Grandma!"
"Remove you hand."
No response.
"What do you want?"
"Hello, Grandma's leg." Another giggle.
"I'm not a grandmother. And certainly not yours."
He frees my leg only to grab his toy and throw it at my face with his grimy fingers.
In pure disgust, I release a scream.
He backs away with a puzzled look. "I thought it was noon." He drops his toys on the floor and scurries away like a rat.
Evening soon comes, but it gives me yet more reasons to hate my captors. There was a time when delicate drapes covered the windows, but like the mirror of the table, their time had come as well. The uncaring owners years ago replaced them with plastic blinds, which are now faded and cracked from the harsh sunlight. Streamers of the sun's rays slip through the cracks in the blind all evening long, each permanently imprinting itself on my skin.
It is midnight now, and my house is dark and quiet. The silence permits my anger to brew. Realize that I have not always been their captive. There was a time when I was cherished by them, even revered for my profound beauty. Now I am under-appreciated, to put it mildly. Everyday I was bathed; however it has been years since last that happened. Why do they hate me now? Why can they not appreciate my importance to them!? Do they see my influence on them!? Without me they cannot conduct their lives. I laugh hysterically as I realize how to demonstrate my importance. I am proud to be a grandfather, and tonight they will learn their lesson: At midnight I will only chime eleven times!