Have you ever laid listening to the ticking of a clock, concentrating on every tick, trying to slow the tick down with the strength of will, to see if you can make it stop through the power of the mind?
I lie here on the bed in my room, on my side I stare at the door while the clock ticks, seconds tumble onward tick tick tick, I concentrate and think only of the tick, I try to make the gap between each tick grow, imagining slowing the time passing.
An hour passes one tick at a time, then in half a dream, the ticking slows and then stops, the tick has gone, all other sound too, even the ringing in my ears has gone, I notice too that the dust just hangs in the air between me and my door, no movement at all, inwardly I look, no heart beat is felt, no nerves twitch, no blood pumps, only sight left to me, watching the door, as the handle silently twists.
No call for I cannot speak, no heart skip, for the only thing moving in this world is my door, gently arcing open. In he comes, ducking under the frame, an impossibly thin, incredibly tall figure in a tatty tight black suit, a face paler than paper, with a ragged mop of snow white hair, with eyes dark and unblinking he swings his long legs into my room, in long slow loping steps, arms swinging slowly like tree branches in the wind, he approaches my bed, ever nearer he comes and then stops, standing over me, silently looming, he reaches down into the laundry basket, elegantly picking out a single sock. Holding his prize he turns away from me, the tails of his jacket swinging to follow as he makes long strides back through the door.
Just as the handle stops turning, I hear a new tick and let in a new breath. well, now I know.


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