The sunlight heated up his skin, an easy warm blanket. The clock ticked its way into the night. He didn’t have to see it to tell the time. The sound of its movement was enough to count hours. That steady mechanic hum matched what went inside his head, the soundtrack to his still madness.
The incessant vapid talk of people and the flowers pushed him to the edge. He fought by counting minutes, hours and days. It was 2 years, 50 days and 21 hours. He had to fight to lose his life, wait for them to pull the plug.