Millie Haney, Emerge. 
My only use: tell them when their time has run out. Now, before you go racing to the morbid parts of your mind, I’ll just tell you I’m a sand timer. I’m placed on a pedestal. Flipped over…and over…and over again. Though it seems daunting, it can be nice. More often than not the students use me for their “writing time”. Sometimes I like to imagine that when they write, they write about me. They do peek at me ever so often which is comforting. Every slight glance is another drop of fuel used to power my daydream.
They turn me over and for approximately 7 minutes I feel seen. But just as the sand drains into my lower half… “That’s time!”
And I’m tossed to the side waiting for my next dose of attention. I feel I don’t get enough as it is. I mean sometimes they forget I’m even there. They scribble inside their notebooks not even batting an eyelash in my direction…of course this only happens on occasion.
The real tragedy, however, is Gel timer. She’s often on the sidelines, a bench warmer if you will. Could you even imagine having to watch everyone and everything from a cluttered corner on the table? Buried under papers and books- hardly able to tell if the light is on.
What an awful way to live.
She seems to not mind but I would tip over tile if that was me. Tip over tile: a self made expression meaning to fall off of a high surface and onto the floor resulting in shattered glass. In other words, falling to your death.
The thing about Gel timer is people enjoy looking at her. For no particular reason they flip her over and just watch. They gawk at every fluid motion, hardly even blinking.
Don’t get it twisted, I don’t want what she has, I want what she gets. I don’t understand why she gets all the attention. She’s messy, slow, and unpredictable. I’m efficient, steady, clean, and reliable. I make a tiny *clink* sound for every tiny rock that hits my glass.
But her?
Just the slimy silence of pink goop.
I will admit she’s got a nice color but that’s all she has going for her.
Maybe that’s it.
I wonder if I could make my grains pink…
Nevermind that.
Nothing gets in or out of here unless of course you actually tip over tile.
Too bad we sit above the carpet…
Or I would’ve pushed “little miss attention hog” years ago.
I’m sorry, but your time has run out.