As The Second Hand Ticks

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Tick. Tick. Tick. The second hand continues to work it’s way around the white clock. I sit and stare idly at the dry erase boards where I still see last weeks lessons, even though they’ve already been erased. One. Tick. Big. Tick. Waste. Tick. Of. Tick. My. Tick. Life. The class is silent, staring at the teacher, preaching half-heartedly that what we’re learning we’ll use for the rest of our lives.

Another second. Another minute. Another hour. Another day. Another year. All in futility. All in vain. Another second wasted from my performing career. Another cursed day sitting in this stupid desk, listening to lessons that, honestly, I’ll never use again. Another day in a town that I’ve always lamented being a part of. Another day to be far away from the city of my dreams, sweet New York! Times Square, Broadway, The Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and all that jazz!

Life away from New York can often push me into constant stages of apathy, drooling, frequent gas, irregular bowel movements, and constipation. My body even knows that I don’t belong in this po-dunk town, wasting my life here. It knows where I belong as well as I do.

Right now you’re probably thinking that I’m one of those freaks that walk around with a hot dog, Lady Liberty Crown, and an “I LOVE NY!” shirt. However, you’d be sadly mistaken. I still have a few ounces of sanity left. The rest has been taken away by my 14 years of living here.

So as I sit in this wretched desk, watching that clock, mocking me as I sit, I want to grab it and rip it from the wall, then trudge over to my backpack, loaded with books and homework, place the clock in it, and set them both and fire. I want to watch the flames dance in delight, for they will be just as happy as I, seeing now that I have realized where I belong. And I want to hear as the clock begins to die, as the blazing flames reach it’s batteries, the fading tick…….tick………..tick………tick.





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