The Clock


The clock was insignificant, really. One of those government-issued round things, mounted high on a teal wall. I couldn’t look away from it, no matter how I tried. Clinking, sucking, and muffled voices strained to pierce the buzzing in my ears, the sound of a raging waterfall. 

Bitter iron-flavored blood filled my mouth. I tried to breath it in, to confirm it. I couldn’t breath at all.  I was stuck…trapped. I couldn’t look away from the clock…mounted on that teal wall. 
I distinctly remember leaving work at 5:15, and crossing Pike street on foot. What happened? The clock…that damned clock on the wall! It wasn’t moving, but I could hear the ticking…the beating in my head most of all. 

I strained my eyes from their deep sockets, afraid they’d fall. I beheld my open chest upon an operating table. A cadre of surgeons surrounded me…standing tall. They were looking up at the clock…then laid down their instruments and walked away, one and all. 

No more ticking of the clock…that clock high on a teal wall. 

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