The Lost Hour
The clock has an empty space. I don’t know what number goes there, I don’t remember.
I wake up at exactly nine every morning, the number before that is missing. Twelve, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven….nine? No that’s not it! Help me remember, I need to remember. This feeling doesn’t stop, it wont stop, I want it to stop, but I just don’t remember.
Something is forcing it away from me, something doesn’t want me to remember. I would ask my wife, but she’s always sleeping, she never used to sleep like this, I don’t want to wake her. Should I wake her? No. I’ll figure it out myself, but I DON’T REMEMBER. Fine, i’ll wake her….
she won’t wake up, why won’t she wake up? I don’t remember. Why can’t I remember!? When the clock strikes the invisible hour, my hands bleed. Why do my hands bleed? What is with this invisible hour? I have so many questions. Why is there a lost hour? Why doesn’t she wake up? Why do my hands bleed when the clock strikes eigh-Wait…eight! Thats it! I remember! Eight in the morning!
My wife kept snoring, so I put her to sleep at eight, she screamed as I strangled her, she clawed at my hands…my mind is a strange place.