The Currency of Seconds - Wordplay #7
BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.
The incessant, malignant sounds, spawned from heartless electronic devices that steal every last minute, every last breath, driving the numbers forward until each person counts zero. The shriek of responsibility, of wasted moments, of reality outside of nonsensical dreams where we would rather have interesting, terrifying chaos than face banal existence any further. Every second a new reminder that the world demands that we fit in, that we continue trudging, that we are lucky to be an essential part of the grind, breathing our shared air and living our baseless lives.
BEEP.
BEEP.
The sheets were even warmer in the patch of sunlight from the window. He moved his legs over.
BEEP.
BEEP.
No. The madness of unliving was a gentle respite, to live among vapor in unfettered imagination, where brain synapse create image and color and…
BEEP.
BEEP.
Well, it’s time to turn that damn thing off. He flopped over to his stomach, lurching for the button on top of the clock, to silence its offensive shrieks. He had no time to press snooze. He had no choice to stay later, nor call out for the day. He had no control over the shirt he was about to wear, or the traffic on the long stretch of highway, or even most of his own curriculum applied to the writing boards. The dulled stares of students mirrored his own as they drudged through one page, then the next, absorbing as little as possible and watching that clock.
More seconds ticking back and forth on…
BEEP.
BEEP.
Fuck the snooze button. Fuck this job. Fuck the fact that he had no choice.
BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.
The room felt different, the press of skin against his was more rousing than the alarm clock, as though he could sleep through it anymore. His arm flung out to silence the clock as she murmured and shifted next to him, her hair everywhere like a trapper’s net. His favorite tie was caught under her arm, they must have slept with it all night unknowingly. It looked different and duller, whether compared to her, or with the knowledge that its purpose is fulfilled. The plane left at eight p.m. They had time.
But he liked the look of her tangled hair in the light. He liked that the day felt bright and full of promise and freedom. He loved that she looked better in his buttoned shirt than he did. He spent those seconds being happily awake, instead of wasting each breath on sleep.
“You don’t need use that alarm anymore, you know,” and her voice was raspy from the night’s drink and the morning’s solace.
He laid his head inches from hers, spending his time like currency, investing in this moment in the warm bed.
“I know.”
A beginning and an end of a long story, an activity written for Wordplay #7 on the topics of “An alarm clock that won’t stop ringing” and “the joy of watching the sunrise.”
