Mary Migley


The Watch II: Destruction



        It started with an itch.


        Actually, it was more of an irritation, an endlessly annoying irritation, an angry spot marked red on the skin which demanded to be rubbed constantly.  This maddening aggravation, ceaseless in its torment, circled my wrist along the edge of my stiff watch straps, digging into my skin.  It wasn't so much painful as it was uncomfortable, this cursed chafing caused by those hardened black bands.


        For what seemed to be the hundredth time in the past hour, I ran my finger underneath my watch, hoping to generate any amount of temporary relief.  I wouldn't even look at the watch as I toyed with it.  Instead, I gazed up and in the opposite direction, sniffing once scornfully, my face hard.  My watch was being selfish in demanding so much of my time and attention when I had countless other problems to deal with.


        I was handling one such problem, writing an impossible three-page paper, when my wrist brushed along a wall, causing my watch to rub particularly harshly against my already irritated skin.  With a huff, I ripped my watch off and dropped it to my side.


        Unfortunately, I had forgotten that I was currently sitting on my window sill, and that dropping my watch to my side meant dropping my watch right out an open window.


        My watch may claim to be "100FT Water Resistant", but apparently it wasn't resistant against a hundred feet of air, especially when it plummets through that one hundred feet.  I was so far up I couldn't even hear the crash as my watch slammed into the ground.


        Even though I wasn't particularly fond of my watch at the moment, I still jumped off of the window ledge - into my room, not outside -  and rushed down those ten floors until I reached the spot where my watch had landed.


        There, crumpled pathetically on the concrete sidewalk, lay my watch.  Tiny shards of scattered glass surrounded the site of destruction.


        I fell to my knees, staring at my ruined watch.  It lay face down, preventing an accurate assessment of damage.  Carefully, with only my thumb and index finger, I picked the watch up by the end of one strap and gingerly placed it back down, face up.


        Along the upraised rim of the watch's face jagged glass still clung, having not been knocked out along with the rest of the former glass covering that now lay in pieces on the sidewalk.


        The face itself was covered with scratches and dents, slightly distorting the silver numbers.  The minute hand was bent inwards, while the second hand had completely snapped off.  Fortunately, the hour hand was unharmed by the watch's untimely descent, but that won't do a whole lot of good now.


        The watch bands, responsible for my irritation and consequently the watch's demise, remained intact.  Apparently there was enough elasticity in those stiff bands to prevent any notable damage.  However, the band with the buckle for an end had been partially ripped from the hinge which connected it to the head of the watch, so those offending straps hadn't completely escaped punishment.


        Suddenly, as I continued with my inspecting, a flowerpot whizzed by
my head and landed directly upon my already destroyed watch, followed by a faint cry of "sorry!" from above.


        I uncovered my watch from the broken pottery and the pile of dirt and sat it down in a less messy spot to reassess the damage.  The face of the watch was now completely devoid of any glass, the jagged edges having been broken out by the fallen pot.  The hour hand was no longer straight, and the minute hand, instead of being attached at the center, now lay free along the side.  Dirt covered those formerly shiny silver numbers, and no longer did my watch claim to be "100FT Water Resistant".  The latter was rather inconsequential though, since I did not have any plans to swim with my watch on any time soon.


        The bands suffered as well.  When the flowerpot smashed into parts, some the pieces had been forced against the black material, leaving scratches and other various imprints along its lengths.  In some places, the bands were even torn.  They didn't shine anymore either, since dirt now covered most of the area.


        Just then, I heard a whistle, and I looked up to see a police officer on horseback galloping in my direction.  I had no time to save my watch as I jumped out of the way, and I could only watch in horror as the horse's hoof pounded once against my watch as it sped by.     


        With a resigned sigh, I knelt forward to look at my watch once more.  The rim surrounding the watch's face was bent flat, and the little knob used to adjust the time, at least if the hands had still been attached, had been knocked out from the side, rolling along the concrete millimeters away.


        I was just beginning to think that my watch was irreparable and that I should just buy a new ten-dollar watch when a pigeon flew overhead and confirmed my decision with an ill-placed deposit.