The Clock

By Mila McGovern

Over my head is a clock. With each tick I’m further. I don’t know what from. The noise whispers with regret. It convinces me that I’ve spent it wrong.

The hum grows aggressive. Old friends look unrecognizable. I’m not small like I once was. Let it stop.

“Tic! Tic! Tic!” The clock’s restless buzzing belittles my every choice. I know I will regret regretting, yet I can’t prevent it. Loathing is so addictive; I am a sailor to a siren. Gasping for air. Oh my. It’s unbearable. I’m so helpless.

The hands stopped. Nothingness is an okay silence. I am far.