The Icognito Writer

The Boy And The Clock That Stopped

One of my more popular posts last year

The Icognito Writer

He woke up

He was sweaty and burning up but he wasn’t worried

It was the middle of summer

It was the end of his life

He stood up

He walked to the staircase landing where he tarried

It was 9 in the night, only 2 hours after supper

It was the only 2 hours of his life


He walked down

Planning to get sometime out of the fridge to drink

It was a long walk

It was a long night

He turned around

The clock said it was still 9 and he began to think

They finished supper at 7, just after dinner talk

Something was not right


It was there in the pale moonlight that the clock stopped

Tick … tock … tick … Tock

It was there in the darkest night that his body stopped

Tick … tock … tick … Tock

It was there at the…

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I am not who I say I am but who my writing says I am; my characters define me. Like puppets in a play, they tell you who pulls the strings. I'm not who I say I am; I'm who you think I am.

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