Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24996913-20150126235031

Okay, so I sort of ran into a pianist who was playing this beautiful song that captured my attention immediately and made me think of the idea for this pasta. The artist is Myuu. And the song is titled disintegrating. It's best to listen to the song while reading this. I really think it adds to it. Btw this was written within minutes, so excuse whatever errors you may run into. Anyways, enjoy.

The clock on the wall doesn't seem to care that I am in a rush. It does not recognize that I do not wish to be here. I want only for the small hand of the clock to reach its destination: 5:00 pm. After all the work I've put in throughout the year, and after all of the turmoil, I could use a lingering vacation. One well deserved for a man in anguish.

Even though I am a constant punching bag for those around me, I try to escape the ridicule as I watch the clock wind down. The beauty outside of the window is enough to provide even the smallest proportion of comfort as I anxiously await 5:00pm. The beautiful, blue and grey hues of the sky outside of the window, the light tap against the outside paneling as a breeze forces the shutter to meet it, the colorful array of orange and red surrounding the dying sun. It's so beautiful to zone out from it all and appreciate the beauty of what lies outside.

I look over at the clock.

4:58 pm.

Why must time slow when you want to escape whatever nightmare you live? It's as if the hands of the clock slow down, as if the clock wants you to embody every second of your anticipation. As if it wants to show you that no matter how much you wish for something to happen, time is of the essence and time isn't on our time. We are on its time.

Regardless, I wish it'd hurry. Every day I'm here I miss my family. I miss their laughter. I miss their nagging. I miss their little play fights. I miss everything. I wish only to get home to them. I wish only to caress my wife's face and tell her I love her as we watch the kids play out in the golden cornfields behind our home.

4:59 pm.

Time couldn't pass any faster. Nearly three minutes of anticipation, and I'm still able to envision memories. All of the days during the summer that I taught the neighboring kids of my town how to swim were some of the best days of my life. Oh, how the kids relished in their lessons. They all loved me. I was the athlete of the town, known for my accomplishments in long distance swimming. The gold medals still remain downstairs, hidden within the glass shelf I held countless other trophies. Everyone trusted me with their children. "Our kids are in good hands," they would say. Not only did the children think of me as their role model, but their parents absolutely adored me.

I was the hero of the town.

That was before the accident. Tragic accident. Bodies thrown from their cars. Two small boys and one woman. While the mother, wife, and her children drowned within the river beneath the bridge they were crossing to get to an award ceremony, their father miraculously survived.

I was no longer the hero.

I was but a victim, someone to be pitied, the man that lost his family in tragedy. Hah, I was pitiful. I took my eyes off of the road to look within the eyes of the woman I loved, I swerved as the headlights bombarded my vision, I killed them.

Just as I am doing to myself now. I want to feel their pain, I want to feel what my family experienced as I remained seated within the car I should've propelled from. I cannot feel my legs anymore. They no longer struggle beneath me. I'm as still as the trees outside now.

5:00 pm. 