this morning I awoke and looked at the clock. 

Mr. Lonely 6 A.M. 

has to die for Mr. Lonely 7 A.M. 

as each minute dies for the greater good of an hour, of time itself. 

I got to school and sat down in a chair. Ritual-like. Watched the clock as time went on, watched minutes die and come back to life with each tick. 

I grew more anxious with each twitch. 

the girl sitting next to me was in tears. 

and everybody else was suddenly dead. 

I looked to face the girl and found that these so-called tears happened to be in the shape of a 6, but also a 9, and a 1, and every other singular number. 

I watched them fall for a long time, and when I finally looked at her, she took my hand. 

I glanced at her face and saw time. 

and I stared at her for a while longer. 

her face drooped, and I suddenly saw that her face was not a face, but a clock. 

her arms reaching toward me

the ritual of time.