Short Story 15

The Clock

It has been two hours, thirty-two minutes, and eight seconds since I woke up handcuffed to a metal bed in the middle of an empty room. I know exactly how long it has been, because there is an enormous digital clock that has been annoyingly counting since my eyes opened.

If you had come up to me yesterday, or at least, I think it was yesterday, and asked, “If you woke up in a strange place, handcuffed, and in different clothes than what you left the house in, how would you feel?” I would have said something about freaking out at the mere notion of such an abnormality. Continue reading “Short Story 15”

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