Feeding the Frog

I did the important part.

I mentalized. I wound up the alarm clock, really tight. Then I winded up my arm and tossed the thing out the window (metaphorically) and listened to the swoosh of the atmosphere, the jolt of the pane, and subsequent granulation of the tempered glass, gust of incoming wind and sleet, and that anticipated kerplunk of the gadgetry on the asphalt.

In five minutes, I had every intention of drafting out the next great World class novel. Speed typing the outline, 500 words like for sure, and hell why not a thousand? But, my mind wandered. Waiting for the kerplunk that never arrived. I began to imagine a dutiful old timer by sheer fate glancing up and catching the meteoroid clock as if in a mitt at Toyama Stadium, during an ordinary shower, and looking up, winningly. With a squint. Gauging it was from the 13th floor and hoofing it up the stairs like a trooper, to tap on the door with urgency. "You lost something," and taking a small bow. Gone.

And I thought I had gained some freedom, some illusion of sparing myself the confines so that my mind could roam free in what turned out be a wildlife preserve. The window intact, the clock on battery, and running well over the allotted time. Analogue. Some words landed in type. But the concept escaped me. Nonsense. Caught in the throat.

I was a frog for a moment. Gulping the time flies.

01.06.2024

Time Flies challenge @AJAY9979