Where’s the pause button?

She cannot take it anymore.

The analog clock hangs on a wall near her bedside, mocking her with the morning sun and haunting her with ominous lullabies at night.

The clock’s hands are always moving, incessantly reminding her of the passing of time, never giving her a moment’s rest. Oh, how she wishes she could pause it.

Time moves too quickly. It only allows her to look back at all the missed opportunities and wasted seconds. How can she enjoy the present when it’s gone in an instant, immediately joining her collection of past regrets?

She’s so tired of it.

Her downstairs neighbor must feel similarly. For he did not seem concerned, when she chucked that damned clock out the window.