The Stuck Clock

A short sketch to fill a prompt I saw on tumblr: a clock stuck at 7:22 am, purple velvet, your favourite book, soda crackers, a tire swing.

The clock has been stuck for days now. The hands insisting it's still 7:22 in the morning, but I know it's not. I've been sitting here on the couch with my favourite purple velvet cushion under my head, not doing much except reading. Everything is silent. The water tap doesn't work, but I haven't gotten thirsty. There is a car out on the road in front of our house, a man inside with a coffee cup in his hand, but it's not moving.

It's like time has stopped with our broken clock.

The only thing that hasn't stopped moving is our tire swing hanging from the old oak in our backyard. It swings like a pendulum, as if it's making up for the stillness of the clock. Back- one second, forth- two seconds, back- three seconds, forth- four seconds. It doesn't make any noise. Nothing does.

I wonder if I will be stuck here, in this paused reality, forever. I ponder this for a moment, watching the tire swing in its endless motion, before shoving another soda cracker into my mouth and picking up my book. The story is calling; reality can wait.