01 May Tick Tick Tick

I’ve always been weary of my clock. Brown and brass with a tick and no tock. It always sped me up. I’ve whizzed through life with it ringing in my head. The days got blurry and I noticed myself at the wrong place at the wrong time more and more.

The change was gradual then faster. The ringing was the only constant. I found myself marking the ticks with strokes of the pen on paper. It was ever so soothing. It gave me peace of mind.

I would mark the paper and lose myself in it. “Oscar!” I would hear in the distance. “Oscar, what do you think?” My boss asked. I made things up. Eventually I was banned from bringing papers. So I started marking my skin.

I found pleasure in it now. The outside world became irrelevant I wanted to see what’s inside me. My keyboard is bloody.