FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS – Aoife Read
Feverish. Staring at the second hand, waiting for the
boom.
Count down to oblivion, that’s what this is.
It’s like they replaced his eyeballs with glass marbles
ever since he heard it on the news.
The clock looms.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6…
He can’t bear it.
His skin feels like roaches, crawling through epithelial
cells, flooding his cracks and crevices .
He has become a man made of bugs, and cogs, and wheels
and gears and tiny shards of metal.
‘Shrapnel Face’ he giggles to himself.
He feels like the narrator in ‘A Tell Tale Heart’.
Time buzzes out of control.
The second hand grinds to a halt.
Every hair on his body stands on end, his muscles sinewy
and bulging.
He pierces the thick silence as he screams, ‘tear up the
planks- here, here! – it is the beating of his hideous heart!’
…5, 4, 3, 2, 1…
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