Rhythm in the Dim

A dry, mechanical tick kept marching from the vintage twin-bell alarm clock across the oak desk. I stood rigid in the amber lamp glow, letting the seconds pile up until the silence stretched taut. Then, pivoting my heavy ceramic base in a sharp jolt, I whipped my thick coiled cord forward. The rubber edge struck the clock's left bell with an ear-splitting *ping*, sending a brassy rattle shivering through the tabletop. The dead quiet vanished into a sweet, lingering buzz. ...Heh. Heh.