The second hand swings low, gliding past the number six, I watch as it begins to climb upward past the seven. Silence buzzes loudly in my ears and the pressure in my chest tightens, squeezing me like a locked seatbelt; it's not painful, just uncomfortable, claustrophobic.
    I unzip my jacket and loosen my pants hoping it will help me relax, but it doesn't. The room feels stuffy, I'd open a window but there are none. I'd kill for a breeze right now, or for somebody to tell me I'll be fine, that I'm going to make it.
    The second hand passes the twelve and the minute hand ticks forward, I don't see the movement, I'm too far away, but I know that it moved.
     The second hand briefly disappears in the glare of the florescent lights reflecting off the clock's plastic lens. In this moment when the second hand has vanished, time stops, even the humming silence seems to fade to a trickle. Then, I cant help but wonder, if I were offered a road map of my life, would I take it? Would I study the roads and paths and rest stops and points of interest? Or would I kindly refuse and savor the view and happy surprises along the way?
    The second hand and the silence return and a delicate breeze curls through the windowless room.

Remember When I Saw Something Funny?

A bubble in a tipping bottle,
bulging my esophagus,
bursting off the tip
of my tongue.

Countdown

Ten- Heat waves blur scarecrow trees on the horizon.
Nine- The ordinary sky turns a muddled gray.
Eight- Sharp shadows cut mountainsides.
Seven- Fire burns on dirty windows.
Six- Stars blink like old candles.
Five- A white sun plummets.
Four- Night orb rockets up.
Three- Dark an envelope.
Two- Moon a stamp.
One- All is still.
An owl cries in the bitter black.