Twelve is the last in line. He doesn’t mind.
He bides his time as the hour hand approaches.
He watches and waits, weighs his options in the grand passage.
And one-by-one, his brothers and sisters fall.
Closer and closer…
What becomes of an hour-past?
Does it fade to nothing?
Does it live in the ether of history?
When his turn does arrive, there is a rush of fear, yes,
but it soon gives way to visions of all things
that happen in those 60 minutes, in his 60 minutes.
All the joys. All the heartaches.
And when his time ends, he smiles as he lets go,
because he has lived a lifetime.
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Like short fiction? How about a whole dang book of it? My newest release is available in both print and ebook on the Amazon. Link down yonder.
Professional Stringer of Words 