Alarm Clock

Born and raised I was, in a very organized home, in a very organized family. I lived my life on a schedule, whether it be that of my parents, or of myself. A family right of passage ceremony took place on each child’s sixth birthday; the day in which they would receive their first alarm clock.

I was a boy that always wanted to be included. I was also the youngest, which meant that I was often not included. On my sixth birthday, I was bursting with excitement for my alarm clock, for this was something that every other member of the family had. After the traditional song, candles, and cake, it was presented to me. It was a gold painted, old fashioned, wind-up clock, and I would have picked it, if I could have picked from all the clocks in the world.

As my birthday crept to a happy close, I wound my clock, setting it to go off at 6:15 (a cautiously early time for my for my 8 o’clock school start). I lay in bed that night with a smile on my face. I welcomed, with great anticipation, the new organizational responsibility. At 6:15 the next morning, I awoke to the pleasant sound of ringing bells.

Ten years later; I am a high school student. I no longer find the ringing bells a pleasant sound to my ears. I now associate them with stress and anxiety. The moment I hear them ring, at exactly 6:15, I want them to stop and let me sleep for another 24 hours, when they will ring again. I don’t know why I continue to wind the clock every night. My mother would wake me whenever I asked her to. But routine is routine.

Four years later; intense issues with insomnia, which came about in my freshman year, have turned me into a college dropout. I have moved back in with my parents, and work a graveyard shift at a large chain store located a few mile from my parents’ house. My shift ends at 4 a.m., and I’m in bed by 4:30. Same as every morning, an hour and forty five minutes later my clock sounds its alarm. 6:15. It is still dark. Same as every night, I swear I set it for 11.

Two years later; I still live at my parents’. I still work the night shift, and have gained no greater rank or pay since the start of my employment. I am entirely to blame, because I give least amount of effort of all the employees. I barely have any within me to give.

The next night; my nocturnal employment is terminated at 2:30 a.m. At 2:45 I collapse into my bed and weep. Not solely for the loss of my job, but for my complete lack of happiness in my life. At 3 a.m. I get the one thing I desire most. Sleep.

6:15 a.m.; I am awoken by the awful sound of the ringing bells of my clock. Rage which I was unaware I had, roars within me! I thrashed from my bed, grabbed the gilded clock and with a shout of anger, hurled it into the wall! The ringing continued. I began to yell and weep uncontrollably. My mother rushed into the room and pleaded with me to tell her what was the matter. In between sobs I told her to listen to the awful ringing of the clock. “What ringing?’ she asked. “That clock hasn’t worked for years”.






Evil and insanity are a large part of Dark Romanticism. Anger is a large part of evil the characters issues with anger is shown when he states that “. Rage which I was unaware I had, roars within me!” More importantly this deals with the insanity side of Dark Romanticism. As you see when the main character’s mother tells him that “That clock hasn’t worked for years”, he has been waking up at 6:15 to ringing in his head that had become accustomed to hearing for the early years of his life. He was so set in his routine that it took control of him and drove him insane.