When the reaper shows you a sign, you better make sure you don't miss them.

Back then, the footsteps down the corridor haunted my mind as a little girl, the sound of shoes clicking and squeaking towards one of the most depressing and dull white room you could ever see.

The same place where my grandmother was currently staying, as she lie on that soft comfortable bed with white sheets that looked like they were always ironed all throughout the day.

Too young to comprehend, my eyes wandered over the monitor that held a steady line, nurses and doctors calling out each other and grabbing the tool that I've seen in countless of movies. I never knew what they had called it at the time but I knew I hated the sound.

And saw how my grandmother's body rise and fall back on the bed like a ragdoll.

God, I hate that sound.

Despite being short, my legs carried me back inside and I managed to slip past the other nurses---most of them were still focused on stabilizing my grandmother's condition. I stood silently in the corner with widened eyes and curiously watched. I knew at that point that I wasn't in the right mind to realize what was happening.

But now that I'm an adult, I'd say that no child should ever see a loved one in their death bed.

At that time, there were questions that lingered in my head far too long, repeating endlessly.

Do old people really sleep that long?

How is she not waking up?

That alarm is louder than her radio at home. Why is grandma still asleep?

Do people's fingers naturally turn blue?

The beeping continued to blare, echoing like a siren inside the room. My father was still outside, talking to my aunt. They never knew I was here in the first place. My hands unconsciously covered my ears when I felt them ringing. I tried to take a deep breath, my own heartbeat overwhelming the sound of the monitor.

I feel like my knees are going to give up at any second. I can't breathe.

By the time I tried to focus and watch the doctors do their work again, one of the nurses finally managed to notice me. Her fingers latched on my hand, loose but enough to stop me from running off, she guided me back outside of the room and back to the hallway to where my father was.

I tried to squirm, flail, and even cry my heart out to beg them to let me stay in the room for a few minutes longer, but she immediately managed to close the door right in front of my face when I tried to go back.

"Amara."

A soft voice called my name and when I turned to look at who it was; my aunt's warm embrace enveloped me. I stood still with my eyebrows furrowed and my lips curled immediately to a frown.

"It will be okay," she told me. That was a lie made to soothe me, I know. A sorrowful look was already seen on one of the nurses' face from earlier and I could barely hear what they were saying to my father. But that one slow nod already made sense to me, a child, that it wasn't anything good. A warning sent to my brain, supposedly.

That's anything but good, I told myself repeatedly, pushing my aunt's hand away and managed to run back to my father---clinging to his shirt. My father had already held me back from returning to the room and told me to sit on one of the chairs beside him while we waited for my aunt to say goodbye to her mother.

I obliged, sitting beside him with my legs swinging and eyes darted back to the mahogany door. After a few minutes had passed, my eyes felt heavy---threatening to close. I tried to distract myself as my eyes wandered back to the hallway.

There were a few patients walking past us and waving whenever they got the chance. Though, some of them were already too exhausted to greet and went back to their own rooms after a meal and medications.

Then, there I saw that simple black clock that hung on the wall. Two forty-five in the afternoon. But is seems that the hands had already stopped working as it twitched nonstop on the same number.

"Papa." I nudged my father's arm a bit, my fingers immediately pointng at the clock that hangs up on the wall. "The clock isn't moving. What time is it?"

My father turns to me before he grabbed the phone from his pocket, replying. "It's just a few minutes late, sweetheart. It's already two fifty-three in the afternoon."

"I think they should fix it soon, papa. Probably get some new batteries for it to work," I mumbled back. I thought to myself that it was too hectic in such workplace for someone to take notice, being a hospital after all. Most of them had their own phones and watches, some corridors having another clock that worked, so it was understandable that they wouldn't replace this as it wasn't much of a priority at the moment.

Soon later, my aunt had finally stepped back outside the room, teary-eyed. Though, I couldn't help but take notice the key that she held on the palm of her hands as she then quickly stuffed it in her pocket. It was the same rustic bronze key that hung loosely around my grandmother's neck. I never remembered her taking it off since she had always worn it as a necklace. The black ribbon used to keep the key instead of a silver chain even proved that it was indeed the same one.

Without thinking, I stood up and pointed at the key, almost wanting to even walk up to her if it hadn't for my father trying to stop me from grabbing it in the first place.

"Give that back to grandma. She might need it."

There was no hesitation whatsoever in my tone. The last thing I wanted was someone taking the key and not get it buried with her, even if they were a relative of hers or not. That was the last memory we had with her, yes, but I respected her enough to know that no one should take what she had during her time in the living.

But despite my loud protests, I was silenced by the judging look on her face as she looked down at me and eventually spoke. "Look, Amara, it was bound to be passed on to me. It was supposed to be your mother's but she had already passed after giving birth to you."

My father's gaze remained straight towards my grandmother's room. A word never left his lips when I tried to look back at him. He looked as if he had already expected that my aunt to be this relentless. Knowing that it was probably a family thing, I slightly frowned and decided to finally accept it, calming down and sitting back into one of the benches. But my hands were already itching to grab the key from her.

Her lips curled into a sorrowful smile before finally standing back up and brushing her long skirt. "It's a piece of that clock that your grandmother loved. I know how much you loved it too, Amara. I heard from your father that you often run to check the clock before it chimes whenever you visit them during Christmas."

Her expression looked like she was forced.

"That was a few years ago." I looked away, uninterested to continue.

The small bronze key seemed to be discolored, based on how its rough texture showed that it had rust all over the years. A frown was still plastered on my face when my aunt decided to change the topic. My father didn't notice but I did. It almost felt like she knew something that we didn't.

As soon as we bid goodbyes with my aunt, she suggested she'd stay to talk with the doctors.

We got back to the car and I hopped on the passenger seat. I took one long look at her by the hospital doors, waving, before my father drives off the parking lot and into the empty highway. I could see her bidding goodbye right over the hospital entrance.

And by the end of the week, I never saw her again.