In the Midst of Fire
I watch the clock hung on the wall. It watches me.
Tap. Tap. A bell rings.
Heavy eyes slow to the girl sheathing me.
I can’t see her face.
I don’t know her name.
Blurry figures dance across my eyes. The bell rings again.
A twitch, she moves unknowingly.
A reflex her subconscious is roaring.
The bell rings again.
That moment, she looks to her right.
A movement through a sea of honey.
The clock still ticks. The bell rings again.
Teeth glued shut, a vein breaking open.
A graceful fall to a chilled floor, embracing her with fervor.
A vision of blue rouses my senses. A sea of suspension. A wave crashes white.
The clock laughs. I plead in silence. It ignores me.
She turns to me, in ache.
A hollow void gawks back.
A shadow engulfs me now. It calls my name. I cannot respond.
The chill of a slab envelops my skin.
I can see the clock. The bell rings, a flurried note out of reach.
It ticks. Slower now. Slow.
I squint through a hazy air. The shadow is impatient.
She watches me. A blink matching a tick, waiting on forever.
A languid shake, I tell it no. Not yet.
Tap. Tap. The bell rings. I do not hear it.
I cannot defy it.
The clock has failed her. It has failed me.
But it does not care.
It watches, unassuming, its goal ahead.
If only I had the strength of time.
I could change the future.
Originally published at www.herculture.org.