FD Day 92: He tucked his head into the cradle of his arms, curled up against the forlon, lifeless white walls. From the corner of his eye, he watched the hands of the clock meander aimlessly in infinite circles. He lifted his index finger and traced its path, as it went from the beginning to the end, and back to its starting point again, on and on. On and on, in endless cycles. Where is the beginning and where is the end? Aren't these points merely all but a self-construct? What time is it? Wait. What IS time? Time is an illusion, is it not? TICK. Past, Present, Future. TOCK. The world will never be same again. TICK. Now will be then. TOCK. Then will be gone. Lost. Faded. TICK. TOCK. TICK TOCK. TICK TOCK. Realisation. Fear. Paralysis. "Help me," he whispered into nothingness. "Can I help my future self to help myself?" He clutched the worn tattered cover of his Bible and sobbed uncontrollably. A man. A mere mortal, all alone and desperately lost. He writhed in pain as he fought a one-sided battle with his inner demons. Hope - the light that pierces the darkness, the strength from within. Yet, Hope flickers dangerously close to extinction, just a small speck in the vast hideous darkness. It existing, only because Despair arrogantly allowed it to, because Despair was so confident that it could snuff Hope out whenever it wanted to. So this man, torn and beaten to his knees, clung on to this pathetic spark of Hope. And he prayed. *my yet again, another obnoxiously elementary attempt at writing.
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