I sit at my desk. It would have been quiet without the everlasting hum-buzz of my laptop fans working the best they can.

I take notice of the clock on the wall. Usually muted, insignificant, it quickly became the loudest sound I've ever heard. The incessant tick-tock of the seconds hand moving cut into my brain like a knife would cut into a cheese sandwich.

Time passed, and more time passed. How could I not count the seconds, when the cadence of time reverberated in my head?

I took a look at the window I opened to get more fresh air. Apparently, fresh air makes you feel more productive. The lines of meaninglessness I'm currently typing out are not a good testament to that fact.

I looked at the clock, and then the window. Clock. Window. Clock. Window.

A soft shatter awakes me from my stupor. I look down from my second-floor apartment and see the remains of my exasperation laid bare for the word to observe. I breathe whispers of gratitude. A few more minutes of the noise would have driven me to tinnitus.

I have been crowned the wielder of time, and time cannot slip from my grasp anymore, for I won't be aware when it does.