One Hundred Seconds, One Hundred Stones

Your eyes follow it. You are transfixed, forever caught within the never-ending monotony of sound and motion. You stand, ever obedient, watching. Never moving. You simply wait and watch as you mind asks itself questions.
Why are you here?
Where are you?
You leave the questions unanswered, but they repeat, forever endless. You find their repetition somewhat soothing. It calms you, though you hardly need calming, for you watch in utter peace.
It is a giant pendulum, swinging slowly, the gold weight flashing with each backward pull and forward push. You’re entranced.
A wide, gaping bowl rests beneath, dull and shadowed, reflecting back a dull and shadowed pendulum, swinging. Back and forth.
Around the edge of the bowl sit one hundred small silver stones, perfectly shaped so each resembles the other. As the great golden weight swings forward, it collides with a single stone. The silver piece clinks against the gold, then rings as it falls to the bottom of the bowl.
You observe without comment or motion, the clang echoing in your ears, reminding you of a triangle. The swinging continues. Back, forth, then upon the back swing, another stone clinks into the bowl.
You stare at the two stones, unfazed by their sudden appearance. For a moment, you watch the pendulum’s reflection stutter across their surfaces, miniatures of the real thing. You watch and listen as the pattern continues.
Back, forth, back, clink.
And continues.
Back, forth, back, clink.
The bowl slowly filling, each clink echoing louder and longer than the last. It is a startling sound, one that would normally make your heart race in temporary shock as the sound occurs. But you do not flinch. Only your eyes seem to move. Back and forth, never blinking, never closing, never looking away.
Your heart is beating slowly, having found a comfortable rate, matching the clink of stones, and the tick of seconds. Every second that passes is a stone falling into the bowl.
One hundred seconds, one hundred stones.
Back and forth.
Time has no toll on reality here. You are not concerned with whether or not it is 6:12 or 3:19. You know only the slow swing, constant clink, monotonous tick, and ceaseless thump of a pendulum, stone, clock and heart, each in rhythm with one another.
The pendulum has changed patterns now. It has thrown off the tick and beat of your heart and clock. It is no longer one stone every second. Something has changed; has gone wrong.
You watch without comment of movement as the pendulum arcs back, higher and higher, stretching its faint gold string.
The calm monotony of you mind’s questions has stopped, replaced with a single thought.
What is wrong?
All too soon, your mind’s question is answered. The unsteady weight has overcome the strength of the string. There is a moment of silence after the string snaps, and the pendulum is caught on a fore-swing.
Then sound returns and the pendulum is lying in the center of the bowl, the one hundred stones scattered about its massive and ruined self. You stare at the wreckage as dust settles.
You heart is beating on its own accord, you breath under your own control. Silence falls with the dust. You are close to panic. Your heart is beating its own rhythm, unknown, without a clear pattern. Your breath is ragged, unchecked by the slow monotony of something tightly controlled. You are no longer calm.
But from somewhere deep in your mind, questions begin to flood your senses.
What has happened?
How can this be?
As you question yourself repeatedly, but ever without an answer, you begin to hear a far off sound. It is the sound of a clock, ticking slower than real seconds.
You turn and walk away from the wreckage, your footsteps in time with the seconds. Already, you can hear the sound of a stone clinking into a bowl.
Your heart begins to beat to the dangerously repetitive sound of a new pendulum.
Back and forth.
One hundred seconds, one hundred stones.