I sit. Stare. And blink. I inhale oxygen to keep me going. I've been talking to the clock for 6 hours 28 minutes and 35 seconds now. But every time the clock speaks, it's all the same. My stomach rolling.
I stand up, barely holding my weight. Once i found my balance i walked to the wall. I touch the blank wall with my hand, gently setting my forehead on the wall.
"There has to be a way" i whisper to the wall. Then i zoned out. Feeling at peace. Then, i hear i click. I spun on my heels to see what was there. It was the clock. It didnt want me to forget it was there. I hate him.
"12:45" the clock read. Good for him. He has something to do. He keeps himself busy by telling me the time, constantly. As the clock works, i do nothing. As for thats all i can do. Then I remembered the sharpie.
I shove my hands in my pockets. Alas, the only thing keeping me somewhat sane. I open the sharpie marker, the fumes fill my nostrils. I hold the marker to the wall, but nothing comes to mind. Then it hit me. I started writing out a sentence. Once i finished, i looked on what it said.
"If you've gotten in, you can get out" as i scan my eyes over the letters. This makes sense. Why haven't i thought of this before? I read the sentence again before whipping my head to the clock. "Are you my way out"?
