Author's Notes: This was just a short little story I wrote one day. I don't do first person as much as I'd like, as most of my ideas work better from third person. I had no idea what I wanted to write going into this, but I felt the opening paragraph worked really well and things just started flowing from there. Enjoy!
If it was fate that led me here, then she is indeed a cruel mistress, as they say. If I was following the path of destiny, then I've been walking the wrong road all my life. If some outer force had led me here, then someone, or perhaps something, must truly despise me.
The clock beside me ticked without pause, a ceaseless monotone counting down my final minutes. Before my eyes, light and dark intermixed, dancing savagely to a wicked tune. The clock ticked on, keeping beat to their dance.
I struggled to rise, to move into a sitting position, but my body would not obey. No matter how hard I tried, I could not force it to move. It was as if some other force was determined to keep me there. A dangerous thought crossed my mind. Perhaps it was I who did not want to move.
The passage of time had been lost to me. I could hear the clock; I knew it was beside me, yet I could not see it. I had no idea how long I had been lying there, and no idea of how much longer I'd be stuck for. All that I knew was that time was definitely passing. The monotone of the clock's mechanisms made me well aware of that.
I thought I heard someone crying my name, calling out to me. Were they trying to pull me free? I reached out with my mind, attempting to grasp a hold of and focus on whatever was calling my name. It called my name again and again, yet each time I tried, I failed to grasp a hold of salvation. Every attempt I made was blocked by the light and the darkness, going about their rapid dance.
My mind turned the intermingling light and dark into images. I saw people I recognized, that I'd grown with. People that had been through the hard parts of my life with me, as well as the happy parts. Childhood friends, parents, neighbours and other acquaintances all appeared in the dance of light and darkness and vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Each beat of the clock brought with it a new face. The clock, I feared, would be the last thing I would ever hear.
Again, the voice cried out my name and again, I failed to grasp it. Was there no salvation for me? Was I doomed to this fate, to the destiny laid before me by the ever-present clock? Was each tick, every tock, drawing me ever closer to the end? In vain, I struggled to grasp the voice, to focus on it, and only it. Yet, despite it seeming to grow louder, I was still held back by the dance before me. The cursed dance spurned onwards by the clock, the beat of time.
I felt a breeze, and images came to me. Was I in a room? Was there a window near me? A door perhaps? Uncontrolled, visions appeared before me. Could these be my memories? I saw a vision of a room, its size indefinite; the area beyond it's centre nothing more than a blur to my eyes. In what appeared to be the room's centre I lay, still and unmoving, my eyes unopened. Was I a ghost, looking down upon my own unbreathing body?
No, I could still hear the clock, ticking away to the passage of my life. I was sure I still lived. This was nothing more than some memory, some vision of the past. The image of my lying in the room vanished as the light and the dark moved in once more to resume their dance.
Again, the breeze blew over me, from somewhere to my right. I noticed, however, that it only seemed to blow over my face. Why couldn't I feel it over the rest of my body? Something must've been covering me, leaving only my head free. Once again, I tried to move my body, yet it wouldn't respond. My arms remained limp by my sides and my legs straight below me. Why couldn't I move?
Then it hit me. It was the only explanation that made any sense. I was sure that somehow, something had buried me beneath the ground, leaving only my head bare. Why had fate, that cruellest of mistresses, led me here? Why had the road of my destiny ended here? What despicable force so desired to torture me like this?
I could feel the force of the dirt's weight all around me now, pressing against me. Movement was impossible, so I gave up struggling. I tried opening my mouth to call for help, but no sound would come. No matter how hard I tried to open my eyes, all I could ever see was the dancing light and dark. The ever-present clock, ticking away my life, filled my ears with its monotone. How I wished it would stop.
Despair started to rise within me, dashing away any hope I had remaining. I was sure that I'd be trapped forever, the clock my only companion. I was doomed to an eternity of suffering, yet for what reason I did not know. No answers came to me as the despair swept through my soul, leaving me feeling cold and alone.
For a third time, the voice calling my name reached my ears. Instantly my despair gave way once more to hope. The voice was louder than ever. This time, harder than ever, I hoped for salvation. My mind reached out, hoping to grasp the voice calling me. It's familiarity brought with it the promise of comfort, of safety. I wanted nothing more than to respond to it, yet my mouth refused my wishes.
The light and dark threatened once more to drag me away, back to the cold depths of my despair, yet I resisted. The clock's continuous ticking worked to distract me, to overwhelm me, yet I refused to let it take hold. Salvation was before me, in my grasp, and I refused to let go.
The bonds between the light and dark appeared to weaken, to give way. I seized this weakness and ripped the light and dark apart, scattering them to the void they came from. The clock, no longer keeping beat to their dance, became less of a focus in my mind. It faded away, still present, but not as omnipotent as it had been.
My eyes opened, and looked around the room I was in. To my right was my window, the blue curtains blowing in the breeze. To my left were shelves, stacked full of books and treasures I'd collected over my life. I lay in my bed, in the centre of my room, covered up to my head by my sheets.
I sat up slowly, rubbing at my still sleepy eyes. Elsewhere in the house, my mother called out my name, demanding I get out of bed. Waking up in the morning was always such a struggle.