They are the only ones who limit me. I am the only one who watches them. Twelve ticking clocks with round faces and racing arms. Twelve who count hours, but only in my timezone. Twelve glaring faces placed by my mom. From my room, I can hear them, but I choose to ignore their taunting beat.

Their rhythm is constant. They stretch their arms across their faces. They circle once, and then once more and run around their tired face and sing their song with monotonous voices and never slow their sprint. This is their favorite game.

If one stopped running, they’d all pause like statues frozen in time, each with their arms imitating the other. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock they say when I sleep. They continue.

When I am too tired and overwhelmed to keep rushing, when I am a single person competing with time, no pauses or breaks I ignore the clocks. When there is no time left in a day or a week. Twelve who run despite fatigue. Twelve who count and don’t forget to repeat. Twelve whose reason is to never cease.