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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/496738-Dance-of-Time
Rated: ASR · Article · Other · #496738
A story about a deathrow inmate and his last hours. Clock symbolizes his remaning time.
Dance of Time
By:warwriter

I watch the clock continue its dance of time, it's ticking and tocking slowly echoing in the small room. It's dance is my only entertainment and distraction from the world, watching the two hands and the second counter do their continue dance of telling time. It may seem weird this is my entertainment. Most folks spend their time of entertainment at fancy amusement parks or playing sports, like they have all the time in the world. Time which I gave away from my world. A world that has since been filled with over five years of being restrained by iron bars, their pale dark look, five years of years of failed appeals all the way to the highest court in the land. I am chilled sitting here, and hearing sharp, crisp footsteps on the pale green linoleum floor, and wondering if they are coming for me. They will waste no time finding me. I've spent time in this little restrained box. That time will soon come I know. The clock ticks on, the slow second hand moving around the clock in it's slow dance, announcing it in seconds with it's rhythm of tick tock tick tock . My dance of time my life is almost ending. I just heard from my lawyer just an hour ago. All he could say was sorry son the court rejected your appeal. That's it. No more chances. That alone sent me spiraling into unbearable agony. The clock ticked on in it's endless dance. I was asked if I wanted a priest. No I replied, and resumed staring at the clock and its dance. Tick Tock Tick Tock. That was the only comforting sound for me. It also is a reminder about my time dance. My time left on this planet. Time that is now more precious then others who have more time then I. Time I gave away when I took someone else's time away. My precious solitude is disturbed by a tray of food shoved in. Mealtime is here. I am served chicken fingers and a baked potato. I think of the time it takes to prepare this meal totally. Time in growing and preparing the potato. Time in also preparing the chicken. Time that is more then I have. As I finish the food I resume staring at the clock and its slow dance. Its tick tock sounds reminding me of my remaining time and my ending danceinally my time is here. I hear those footsteps on the linoleum floor. They are crisp and with purpose. This time they are coming for me. Finally I here the door open, the creaking sound this time. I am summoned. Once again I am placed in two silver bracelets. Now this time I am the one moving down the floor. I am the one being escorted on the linoleum floor, my footsteps this time moving crisply down the block with purpose. The comforting tick tock sounds are replaced by the cruel sound of footsteps moving. It is my turn for the room. Inside lays a small table. I am restrained to the table. It's leather straps restricting my movement. As I am restrained, I see the clock on the wall. I am asked if I have any words. This time I have no words. All I focus on is the clock. The tick tock sound being my only comforts it has been for the past five years. Two needles are injected in. I am relaxed now the chilled feeling is now gone. For once I feel wonderful. I still look at the clock. The slow hands still preforming their time dance. Time which is rapidly fading for me. A third needle is injected. Now I am asked to count from one hundred to zero. Calmly and focused on the clock I count. "One Hundred Ninety Nine"As I count I watch the time dance also count for me. The black hands of the clock slowly counting, sounding each with the familiar tick tock. As I reach lower and lower I see the clock still moving in its endless dance. When my count hits one my dance is over but the clocks dance still goes on. Tick Tock Tick Tock.
© Copyright 2002 warwriter (warwriter at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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