Sounds behind me sporadically invade my groggy consciousness. Muffled footsteps. Not the click of high heels or leather soles on hardwood or terrazzo, but footsteps definitely with a purpose. Do they know that the second hand does not move smoothly, that it doesn't want to move forward? I should tell them.
Hushed voices I can barely hear. Extreme fatigue - I want to concentrate enough to listen, but oh, my heavy eye lids want to rest. Concentrate! I'll concentrate on that second hand - count it through sixty jerky seconds. Will it to move forward.
The slight clink of metal behind me. Beep! Beep! Someone turn off that microwave. I am parched. What I would give for a cool glass of water. How many seconds will it take me to attract someone's attention? Did I watch that clock move through sixty seconds? Can't remember.
From behind, a firm hand gently squeezes my shoulder. Ah, now I can tell them about that clock. Mrs. Lockett, we are ready. I am going to administer the anesthetic through your IV tube. I'd like you to breathe deeply and count to ten.
One, two.....ah, there are three clocks....how.........