Tick

Time never passed.

This was the end-zone, the circular path, the frozen river, the metaphoric field of all the trapped.

Tick

It was never ending; forever stuck within the repeated cycle that could never change – would never change.

The same scenery, smell, taste, atmosphere… it was never going to be altered and there was nothing to be done.

Tick

They had tried to escape.
Every lifeless soul clouding your air had planned, fought, ran in the exact pleads your brain whispered.

But they had all been swallowed once more.

Tick

There were those elite who had succeeded for mere moments; so brief that it could just as easily been a dream rather than reality.

They had boasted of the sensation of flowing time – where there were new events, new opportunities.
But the fixed mocked this truth, for if changing time was so magnificent then why had the escaped returned?

Tick

You dream of becoming one of these escapees.

It’s a hidden desire, for you are smarter than those before… if there is no knowledge you can fly free to never be captured again as they cannot slip words to drag you back.

Tick

The slam of overly stacked paper frightens you from your unseeing stare into the computer screen.

“I need these reports completed and filed by the end of the day.”

Sighing you provide a disgruntled acknowledgment and slide the first document off the collection; throwing a quick glare at the broken instrument twitching on the wall before allowing your pen to begin scrawling in its tedious routine manner.

Tick

Someone really needed to fix that clock.