Ever notice how easy it is to lose track of time despite the profusion of devices designed to tell us the exact time? I don’t know about you, but knowing the time to the millisecond isn’t a priority. If I have to be somewhere important, I get there a little early.
When you tell time, do you say “three fifty-seven” or “a few minutes before four”. I fail to grasp how the extra detail helps at all.
Frankly, I get lost in the needless detail, much like I get lost in thought, right before my watch chimes the hour.
Story Old — The Home
Photo by Wade Austin Ellis on Unsplash
Fred O’Hearn was lost. He’d left that place he’d been put by his rotten children who were looking to steal his things. He felt the stirrings of panic, of losing the ability to notice even the most familiar of things. Eyes wide, his head swung from side-to-side trying to see something, anything that would help him know where he was. He felt a scream rip out of him.
He woke with a start, hand grasping at the air. He felt his heart start to slow down and his breathing deepen.
“I don’t want to go to the Home.”
Links to other sites where I publish:
Read them on Blogger = https://onehundredwordsbyparz.blogspot.com
Or Read them on Medium = https://medium.com/100-word-or-less-stories
Listen to them on YouTube = https://www.youtube.com/user/parzivalsattva
Write your own on Discord = https://discord.com/invite/qW2jgWwc7Q
And a link to where my Lovely Lady Love (who also operates the camera) posts her art: https://www.youtube.com/user/recyclinggoddess
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