TIME

I look over my shoulder to it, sitting under the shade of the sagging tree, smoking a cigarette. It doesn’t notice me- its acne infested face looking off into some other direction. Its buzzed hair not moving in the wind that whips at my cheeks. I take a deep breath, prepare myself, crouch down slightly, and run. I run like my life depends on it. Because in some weird way, I think it does. Here it comes… I’m reaching the end of the field… I close my eyes in hopes that I will finally be able to break free. The millisecond my big toe stretches past the grassy field, I am thrown backwards. It sounds like I ran into a giant building made of jell-o. The strange scene outside ripples, then relaxes as I am flung across, landing in an awkward position on my neck. A fall that should have broken my neck. I should be dead. It looks at me, and cackles, its voice breaking as it flicks its cigarette butt at me. Immaturely, I stick my tongue out at it as I rub my neck. It’s not sore though. I rub it out of impulse. In reality, it should be sore. Just like it should be broken, and I should be dead.

It won’t stop laughing as its voice deepens, and the acne sucks in on itself and retreats back into its skin. A change I’ve always found disgusting. Now it’s a cruel business man chuckling at me, smoothing his hand down his paisley tie which goes awkwardly with his brown suit. I grit my teeth and stare back out at the stranger world I desperately try to get back into. I don’t know what I’m trying to escape from, or what I’m trying to escape to. All I know is right now I stand in a field with Time, staring out into where there should be a sky, but really it’s a light fixture surrounded by ceiling tiles. I sigh as the fluorescent bulb in the light fixture flickers. I have spent countless days now staring at the six ceiling tiles and the light that is collecting dead bugs. I know it’s my only escape, but I can’t get there.

Its laughing still hasn’t ceased. It’s now a high pitched, wheezy giggle. I turn on my heel to look at the ugly withered old man. Clear snot trails down from his crooked nose and drool escapes from gaps between his teeth, oozing down his chin to soak into his thin shirt. My lips curl in disgust at Time. I can hear family members talking faintly in my ear on occasion. I want to say something. Something simple, like “Hello” or maybe even “Help”. But my voice is the music box that can’t be wound up again. Needles prick my skin and doctors poke me in the most uncomfortable ways possible. I can tell its doctors. Their giant masked faces loom in my mind’s eye when these strange sensations overwhelm me.

Time makes an ugly baby. Fat cheeks, pudgy arms and legs with an overly round belly make it seem innocent, but its grey eyes are filled with mirth. Time smacks its lips as it kicks its feet in the air. The repetition of its smacks reminds me of a clock. I pace back and forth, cracking my knuckles.

I hear something now. It sounds like a drum. No, it’s a heart beat. Ba bump. I can’t tell where its coming from. Ba bump. Its getting louder. Ba bump. Louder and louder. Ba bump. I keep trying to pace and ignore the pounding. Ba bump. My face twists in concentration and sweat forms on the back of my neck. Ba bump. Just ignore it. Ba bump. It will go away eventually. Ba bump. My stomach is a pit and I feel my legs shaking. Ba bump. I trudge on and I’m having to drag my heavy feet. Ba bump. Keep going. Ba bump. Keep going. Ba bump. Ignore it. Ba bump. The pounding has me on my knees. Ba bump. I’m crawling, crawling away from the heart beat. BA BUMP. I choke out a simple world:

“Stop”

And I am left panting on the ground. Silence. I sit back on my heels as off in the distance I can hear the low whine of a heart monitor (in C sharp) go off. I grope my chest, and I feel no rhythmic beating of my heart. My head hangs in shame and defeat as Time waddles up to me. He removes his thumb from his mouth and grins, showing the two front teeth missing. I cry, and Time wraps its toddler arms around me.