Back and forth. Back and forth.
There is a distant ticking, but all my eyes could focus on was the swinging below it. The passage of time marks another thrill within me. Each tick brings with it freedom, the sound of the clock like music to my ears. I lean back in my chair and there is a small creaking sound as I watch it move back and forth, back and forth.
My fingers work smoothly, almost moving of their own accord as I watch. In, out, wrap around.
Silence. The ticking has stopped and I frown. It has stopped moving back and forth as well. I get up, wind the clock, brush past something. Not brush past, nudge. It begins to move back forth, the ticking resumes and I sit down, creaking sound again.
Rough, nylon rope in my hands slithers like a snake, excited to bite whoever is closest. But quickly I tame it, wrapping it around and it tightens as the snake does my bidding. There is writhing, struggling, squirming. Not much longer.
Watching time pass so beautifully, I smile. Time so quick and yet slowing down as if I'm walking through sludge, but it isn't sludge. It is...molasses! Sweet, slow, sticky molasses, dragging me into a state surrounded by sugary sweetness. I imagine a golden, thick syrup is what binds me as time is forever present, moving around me, enveloping me, passing by. Yes, time is slow, watching it tick, watching it back and forth.
Gasp. Claws reach out, attempting to bite into my flesh, squirming, I keep a firm grip, the nylon rope tightening around that pale, exposed neck. Oh, what pleasure, I see my face reflected in those wide orbs! I'm smiling; always have to keep up appearances. Weight almost makes the rope leap out of my fingers and I pull it down fiercely, watching that gaping, fish-like hole rise until it is above me. Tying off the rope, I watch as writhing fades into twitches, jerks at odd angles, then everything goes limp. I laugh and I push it like how one would push a child on a swing set. It moves back and forth, back and forth.
Sweetness, it fills my mouth, engulfs my tongue and taste buds. Tick, tick, tick, back and forth, back and forth. My pet snake creaks as I sit in my chair, a faint sensation of air being disturbed, pausing, and then repeating. Time, slow, slow for me. Slow... I have to get up to nudge it again.
Tick, tick, swing. Time moves in its sweet course, it embraces me and I laugh into its touch, welcoming that sweet molasses and motion of a pendulum.