In The Passage of Time
The Daily Special — Nov 25th — from Promptly Written
Blood leaks from my nose, pattering onto the pocket watch in my trembling hand. Fresh crimson, bright against gold, more real than the other blood already drying on battered knuckles. Winded from exertion, I stare at the spinning watch hands in fear. Faster and faster, they turn. With each revolution I feel thinner, stretching, scattering.
I think I have broken time.
-5 Minutes Earlier -
Silence, but for the rasp of breath and an odd thudding, squishing noise. Pain explodes in my fists. My heart beats a wild tattoo. The haze of rage is lifting and my mind reels to catch up. The rock must have slipped from my hand, slippery and awkward from the prolonged attack. I don’t remember when fists replaced rock. I don’t know which stopped his struggles. I avoid looking at the face below me, afraid of what truths it will tell. I don’t think I’ve ever been a violent man, but thought is hard here. I barely know who I am.
There is total silence, no hue, and no cry to give my deed away. I prepare to run, but I stop, transfixed by the open palm of my victim. Stigmata scar, smooth and pearly against work-rough hands.
The watch in my pocket seems suddenly heavy. An overpowering urge to smash it overwhelms…
