Time: My Exploits When Time Stops.
The hand moves slowly but ever so consistently. I watch intently, waiting for that precious moment. It is 3:09, anticipation flowing without end. The second hand now at 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59. It stops in mid-beat. A crumpled ball of paper in mid-air flight to nowhere, still. Bodies and minds frozen in time. Mine, on a wandering pillage of confusion. Sound turns to utter tranquility. Wind melts. Heat mutates to cold. Light stops, rays like spears, striking everything and everyone. The pitter-patter of fallen hearts, happy joyous feelings, hatred, all become a slosh of noth…
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