watching the handsMature

Every tick of the clock is like a step to climb




And they go so s-l-o-w-l-y. I find I'm willing them on, waiting breathless between each one. Come on come on. It's like there's a weight on them holding them back. Me dangling.

Dangling like Buster Keaton in those old movies. Stopping time. Hanging by my hands on the big hand, so you know. Over this drop that yawns underneath.

It's the doldrums down there. If I drop I'm sunk forever. It sucks in time - huge fuckin vacuum of white sound.


Feeling my hands slipping now. Grainy and distorted. Seconds jump in flickering panes, jerky and disconnected and so so slow.

What to waste time? Time doesn't like it. It's fighting back, drawing out longer and longer. Have I offended it?

"See here, we don't like you and your time-wastin attitude. Time and tide wait for no man? Well, they will for you. They will for you."

"All the time in the world, that's what you'll get."

"All the time."

And the second freezes. The clock has stopped.

Slow time. No time. Times past. Future time. Time's winged chariot flies by and dings me on the ear. 

"Yours now you fuckin whiny-ass sonovabitch. What you gonna do with it? Huh?"






The End

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