Thursday, April 24, 2014

100 Words a Day 594

He sat at the keyboard, sweating. The hands on the wizened clock on the desk next to his laptop marked time’s inexorable progress towards the deadline. Each tick was like the turn on a lever controlling the tension on a rack. Roger felt the tension building as the gears cranked on. He had visions of himself being torn asunder when the clock ticked over.

The document in front of him was blank. He needed something, an idea, anything, to submit tomorrow. It did not have to be great, just good enough, but he could not think of a single thing.

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