Tick. The seconds drew by.
He sat, unmoving, forever. The smoke drifted lazily up, obscuring his worn face, only to wisp silently into thin air and reveal it. The eyes drooped, causing an image of being overtired- which, in fact, he was.
Tick. The clock clucked off another second.
The man with the droopy eyes took another long drag on his cigarette as he stared at the knife before him. 'What's the point?' he thought. 'We're all just the same. We live, and then we die. No matter what we do, we all end up in the same place.'
He continued to stare at the knife, though now there was a certain eagerness in his gaze.
Tick. The monotonous sound, over and over.
His breath quickened. There was a kind of fire in his eyes now. But there was still one thing to do, one piece of unfinished business. He bitterly shoved the knife away in favor of pencil and paper. He hated being bothered with such trivialities, and never noticed the knife clattering across the floor. He sucked on his cigarette as he thought, exhaling smoke through his nostrils at regular intervals. He smiled.
The pencil scraped across the paper in short spurts. He stood. The droopy eyes perused the paper, examining it.
Tick. Time was running out.
He dropped the pencil. With rather sadistic glee, he looked to the knife. Gone.
Tick. He seemed to be aware of it for the first time. There wasn't much time left. The droopy-eyed man looked to the clock for a second, then started.
Where was the knife?
Suddenly, there was a glint of metal, accompanied by a harsh voice. "What were you gonna do? Sacrifice me?"
The man with the droopy eyes burst out laughing. It rolled throughout the cavernous room, drowning out even the steady tick of the clock.
The clock struck twelve with a resounding gong, and a dark shadow flew across the droopy-eyed man's worn face. His suddenly serious expression and grim yet malevolent smile caused the other to back away for a second. Then he reassumed his challenging pose.
"It's time," was all the droopy-eyed man said.
In a panic, the other threw the knife.
The droopy-eyed man fell, blood spurting from behind the knife protruding from his chest. His mouth formed a silent scream of pain.
The last gong sounded, and all was silent but for the steady tick of the grandfather clock.