Calling Time

I will turn off the clocks. Call time on this world. I line up a hundred clear bags. Little bags that will go inside the big blue bag. Particles. Pieces of time here. Trapped. dustpowderwords.you. They lie like a broken jigsaw on the floor. A puzzle. I am not sure what the picture will be when all is done. When all the little bags fit inside the big bag and they. I. Am removed. Recovered. 400 days in this place and I finally make noise. I can only say. I am here. When I know I am going. Moving. A little move. A shift. I gently fight the feet on my head. The static below. With the sound of me. A choking noise of what is left. I do not want to return to this place. I do not want to return. I will pack the ruby slippers. They will take me some place good. When the time is right. When I am right. I try not to feel. I try to measure my movement. Slow down time. Speed it up. Anything just to keep the bags open. Keep my hands filling them. It is strange inside. A sensation that I cannot name. A feeling I vaguely recall from when I was. There are tiny moments. Clicks of the second hand. When I see the nets I have caught myself up in. When I smell them. Tomorrow the thread of nets will pulled from me. Untangled and disposed. I will sit. I will keep my face still. I will apologise. For the smell. For me. Maybe the purple will fade. The red and yellow flow away like water. In a few days days. I will turn off the clocks. They will rest. I will call time on this world.