And the Watching

Margo watched her watch as the time ticked away.

When the sight of the tiny round face grew too much, moved too slowly, she looked up. There, across the room, the wall clock tocked. The second hand moved with interminable slowness, the minute hand a turtle with molasses for blood. In January, she added.

Margo looked back at her watch. It moved slightly faster. Was less delayed by the distance from Margo to the wall.

Still, the watch was slow. So. Very. Slow. Ticking. Away.

Just when she thought she was about to lose it, Margo turned in her chair, looked around. Everyone else was studiously working. She was the only one with nothing to do. But she could watch them, see what the world here was. She did for a few seconds, before realizing how creepy she must appear. So she turned back to her desk and looked down again.

The seconds moved. At long last, they made a full revolution. And the watching began again.

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