The Dark Hour

Elliot got his things in order; straightening a picture frame and flicking off the lights, lifting his occasionally to look at the clock as its hand approached one o'clock. His fingers arched against the side of his thigh. While he'd been making this journey all his life, he could never prepare--not fully. Inhale; exhale, a roll of the shoulders. The second hand stepped closer and closer, its shadow following faithfully behind it. Elliot beat time, and closed his eyes just before the hour struck.