Prompt: At the stroke of midnight, you awaken suddenly from a strange, vivid dream. You remember that the dream involved an unusual object in a distinctive place, but you don't know what it means. Use the object and setting to craft a scene.
Object: clock (time pressure) Setting: concert stadium (potential/underdeveloped talents)
Tick, tock, tick tock.
I can hear it. The monotonous ticking and tocking that have become hypnotizing. And overenthusiastic voices belting out harmonies that strangely melted with the ticking. I jerk up on my bed, staring at the white wall in front of me. I could feel the blood rushing through my ears, the pounding of my heart. Like I have been able to for the past three nights, once again I can recall every sound I've heard in my dream.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
"Your eyes through the faded skies!"
Gah! The clock. The lyrics. I can even hear thunderous clapping and whooping. They are like the birds in a grandfather clock, periodically bouncing out at sudden times, scaring me. But I just don't know what they mean.
Ba-dum-da-da-dum!
My phone blasts a familiar jingle for my alarm. Groaning, I swipe across the screen, knowing that I need to get ready, eat breakfast, and catch the 6:50 bus down the block in twenty minutes. I take a deep breath and launch into my daily routine. My motions are fluid and visceral because I've done them hundreds of times, but I just can't get the nagging feeling of the clock and – was it the concert stadium – out of my head.
Tick, tock, tick tock.
It's 6:46 when the elevator opens, and I know that it will be a close call for the bus. I sprint down the concrete, trying to plan out the rest of my English paper outline. It's due at second block today, but, well, I'm not too worried. I've grown used to pumping out papers at last minute since I'm always so short on time.
As expected, I make the bus. The pungent smell of old leather and sweat makes me do a double take, and the chatter of boisterous students is insufferable. However, today feels different. Suddenly, the leather smells like the smoothed metal folding chairs at a concert stadium, and the chatter turns into a chorus of applause.
What is happening to me?
I wade to the back seat, where my friend Hugo sits.
"Yo, what's up dude?"
I nod and smile like I usually do, then draw out my laptop. Another deep breath, and I'm drowned in a whirlwind of typing madness. Typing is satisfying, and though I wouldn't say writing is my passion, it has always come easily to me. It's not a bad thing to pass time with, writing.
"Aw shoot! Man, you just reminded me of that English paper I forgot to do! Speaking of papers, have you finished the history paper yet? The one on the Renaissance and – "
Hugo's always like this; he can drone on and on for hours, and frankly I don't have enough time right now.
"Yes," I finally say. "The Renaissance one was due yesterday, remember?"
"....Whoops."
I sigh, and dive back into my English paper. I don't know if my dreams could mean something, and I don't have the time or patience to find out.
Right now, I'd rather be writing.
//AN: Day 31 :) Suddenly realized that I should start writing again before being completely blank when NaNoWriMo starts in less than 30 days. Whelp, here goes 1666 words a day (in 28 days).....
YOU ARE READING
30 Days of Writing
RandomIn which I attempt to write for thirty days, one prompt a day. Or, at least I try to make thirty entries.
