Watching the clock

The tick-tock of the big white clock echoed around the hushed room. The only other movement in the tall hall was the soft footsteps of the invigilator and the flurry of frenetic pens filling paper with thoughts. A single shaft of sun invaded the room through a gap in the heavy curtains and illuminated his bare sheet of paper, exposing his lack of labour for all to see. And the clocked ticked and tocked.

He’d walked into the exam like a champion entering a boxing ring. He’d revised and revised, every day and most nights. He’d delved into books and had been transported to ancient Greece, the mountains of Nepal and the dusty hills of California. Then beyond, to Mars, to the stars and the furthermost reaches of the Universe. He’d been to a thousand worlds and witnessed a thousand dramas. But the only drama his was now aware of was the one in front of him, the illuminated page glaringly accusing him as he struggled to write. And the clock ticked and tocked.

A statue he’d become, unable to move, unable to think, pen gripped in a sweaty hand. A million thoughts, all amounting to nought, bounced around his head. Remembering the words of his teacher, he took long deep breath...then exhaled. He exhaled the clashing confusion in his mind; expelled the energy sapping enigma’s. Head cleared, he looked down then wrote a single word. Then another. Then three. The dam broke and a wave of words swept across the page, drenching it in ink. The pen became an extension of his emotions and thoughts as lives and mysteries were created. And the clock ticked and tocked and was no longer noticed.