Night Digressions


I had to buy a new alarm clock this evening….

Almost Over

I limp down a concrete hall, fabled kings long since departed. Dead gray eyes follow me from the alcoves, like the Sins from the sanctum of a comic book wizard.

I hear my footsteps like the ticking of a clock. Off rhythm, but constant. They follow and precede me, defy me and define me.

At the end of the chamber is a cacophony of voices, hovering like smoke. A figure sits on the arm of a chair, half slumped over the massive lunar face of a clock, a stone cloak covering their head and shoulders. It will not look at me, but I know it is speaking. All the voices are its, male and female alike. Slowly I make out words through the singing chaos.

“Who do you serve….what do you honour?”

I move closer, for no real reason that I can think of. The voice repeats.

“Who do you serve….what do you honour?”

I know I have an answer but I can’t recall it…I know a train is coming and I need to hurry, but I have no idea where or why.

I turn to run and I fall hard, onto my arms.

“Who do you serve…what do you honour?”

I roll onto my back, the clock is huge now, rotated to face me. It has no numbers, only hands.

The voice continues, now clearly feminine, cool and warm and intelligent. I think I know the voice.

“The hour is late, you are running out of time….it’s almost over.”

I try to rise to protest, but I cannot stand which means I cannot speak either. I simply know this is true.

The voice continues…louder, gentler.

“The wounds we never expect to bleed are the ones that never heal properly. You know this…you know this.”

The concrete under me is slick, my pants leg soaked crimson yet nothing hurts anymore. My hands are covered in blood.

“You’re almost over….almost.” I am sure I know the voice…the stone cloak is cracking.

…and I awake in a cold night, my alarm clock shattered on the tiled floor.

I still don’t know how.



  1. *shivers*


  2. There is little else I can say, save for:


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