tick.tock.tick.tock.

RUSHhours

It is 9:07 in the evening.

The clock is ticking and I have yet to make my move.

My palms are sweaty; my mind is popping out of its shell.

I can’t take it any more, but the clock is still ticking and I have no where else to go, no where else to hide.

I have been running so much that I have tired myself out of my shoes, not noticing my fears catching up behind me. Suddenly a brick wall has sprung out from nowhere, creating a dead end, giving me no choice but to look back. So much for freedom of choice. My heart is beating rapidly, so fast in fact that any heart monitor attached to me would have burst into flames. I now stare face to face with my shadow, calculating the time on when to look. Then suddenly a shadow comes up from behind me, ultimately killing my own, sending it to oblivion; a place i know i, too, will be destined to go. I guess now is the time to look, what else can I do? I might as well die trying to rid my fears than to live in the shadows of it. As I slowly turned around to look, a chill went down my spine and my legs started to cramp. Why now? Why now when I’m about to make the most courageous thing I have ever done in my life.

Though i must say, i have to commend death for such creativity:

a death sentence in the form of a cramp...

how original.

The clock is still ticking.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Its infamous ring driving me insane.

All I can do now is close my eyes and wait ‘til I reach the other side.

Tick, tock, tick, tock…

and i waited

and waited

and waited

and nothing happened.

Lost expectations, though tempting to discover its cause, isn't exactly an exhilarating invitation to RSVP. Never the less, I chose not to look, for as they say 'curiosity killed the cat;'

and no

i am not that cat.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

So,

i waited

and waited

and waited

and something happened.

------------------------^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

i was getting a heart attack.

the pain, or what i'd like to call a cry for an ambulance, was excruciating; though i dare say, somewhat relieving.

O crap.

I think my sanity just drifted away.

O crap.

I think I'm dying.

I think.

and I think.

and I think.

and nothing happened.

the idle suspense is enough to kill me.

nothing is happening

but pain and delusion.

i am lost in my own nightmare and i have no where else to run.

the corners of my mind has exhausted my final efforts of freedom

i am lost

i am pain

i am dead.

Suddenly everything is silent and dark. The only thing that could be heard is the heart monitor, its cursed alarm of lifeless grim stabbing me at every second.

In one blink, I see a blurry, bright light. The next thing knew I was in my humble abode, my bedroom. It was all just a dream. Actually, it was a nightmare but it doesn’t matter, it just means that it all wasn’t real… or was it?

I look up and I see the computer screen,

the text cursor blinking like mad,

taunting me,

and pressuring me.

----

It is 9:57 in the evening.

The clock is ticking and I have yet to make my move.

My palms are sweaty and my mind is popping out of its shell.

Whoa… a sudden rush of déjà vu swept past my veins. I look at my faint reflection in the screen and i groaned as i realized that the nightmare merely mirrored reality. My fears caught up with me once again.

I.

have.

to.

make.

an.

essay.

not good.

I sit here, with all the radiation seeping into my head, waiting for something productive to enter it. As I stare in to the insulting white screen, with its text cursor blinking at every second that passes by, slapping the time on my face, i look at the clock and ultimately wished i was not the procrastinator that i am. It’s 10:10 and it’s not going any slower. I am in a time crunch and Mr. Blockhead chose the perfect time to swallow me into the depths of intellectual suffocation. Then, an idea zoomed into my head, and I actually caught it! I finally found an idea for my title. I lay my fingers on the keys, click, one letter for me and one giant leap into actually finishing the essay. I then pressed another key, and then another. The keys seem to bow down to my every command. I am their master. I then press the last key. I look into the screen, and there I see my title:

RUSHhours.

I then begin my essay:

It is 9:07 in the evening.

The clock is ticking and I have yet to make my move.

My palms are sweaty; my mind is popping out of its shell…

Sounds to me like déjà vu all over again.