Abstract: An imaginative account about procrastination. Excerpt: “…the clock spoke…” Word Count ~300.
I shuddered and my ears twitched, as I heard a gong disturb the peaceful silence. I turned towards the grandfather-era pendulum clock on the wall in our hall. If it were a person, it would surely have cowered in my glare.
However, the hair on me stood in rapt attention as I saw the hour hand, point out of the clock, straight at me. With a swooshing sound, it darted out towards me. I would have been history if not for ducking in the nick of time.
After a few moments of deliberation, I slowly turned my gaze towards the clock. The minutes hand was now out, pointing at me. With jerky movements of that hand, a voice from the clock spoke, “Don’t f*** with time,” the ‘f’ word being eaten up by the gong chiming.
As I continued staring at it, the minutes hand darted out towards me. I shut my eyes tightly. I heard a sharp thwack, followed by the melody of distant buzz, which quickly faded out.
After a few moments of deliberation again, I turned to check where the hands struck. Being an addicted ‘angry birds’ player, I had already visualized the trajectory and estimated the landing spot. As I turned to face that spot, my eyes widened. I saw the post-it note which I had stuck to the wall about two days back. It read: Send that report by 23:59:59, Sunday.
Instinctively, I turned back towards the clock again. Surprise was not done with me for the evening, as the clock seemed as harmless as ever, with every thing in its rightful place.
However, my attention by grabbed the angle between the hour and minutes hands. Last minute panic kicked in and creativity was reborn by the dance of my fingers on my laptop’s keyboard, in the 30 minutes before deadline!