The clock on the wall

You look at the clock on your wall. You’re late. You worry. You overthink. The stress overwhelms you and you rush around the house in an attempt to collect all of your belongings and thoughts at once, and you hastily get into your car.

Speeding and spiralling across the road, you skid past blurred signs and flashing faces, you overtake the patronisingly slow drivers, you risk your life to get to work on time. You have to calculate the time it’ll take to get there, what time you will arrive. Time dominates you, manipulates you, and endangers you.

You eventually arrive at work, you veer into a space and jump out, you sprint into the building in the hope your boss won’t realise you’re late. The large clock on the wall strikes and at that moment time stands still. Your beating heart sends pulsations around your brain, every tick, and every second. Another excuse has to be made.
“Why weren’t you here on time?” she demands, the interrogation echoes around your mind.
“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again” but you know that it will. You cannot escape time; your life is reliant on it.

Your day is colourless, tedious and repetitive, time passes slowly and you can’t wait to leave. Heavy raindrops crash against the window; you’re trapped inside an institution controlled by the omnipotence of the clock on the wall.

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