Listening to the Clock

The mattress was soft, but the polished wood of the bedside table looked solid enough to hold me. I slid my legs carefully over the folded quilt and placed both feet onto the surface. Right beside me, a small round brass clock gave off a rhythmic, steady click with each passing second. I rested one palm against its cool metal side, feeling the faint, mechanical vibration beneath my fingers. From this ledge, the bedroom floor stretched out into the evening shadows, much wider than it seemed from the pillow. I sat down beside the dial to take it in.