The Minutes Before the Moment

11:50am
The fake woodgrain of my desk is the only thing I can think about writing about. An old SONY fm/am radio sits with its silver antennae pointing east.
11:51am
I am surpised at how few words I can think to write in a minute. How my mind ticks so slowly through the seconds and my fingers are waiting with bated breath for the next smart thing to come out of my mind.
11:52am
The phone rings.
11:53am
Emily isn't coming in today because she's sick. She's not been here since Monday. There are two things to copy and a video to take back to the media center in her box.
11:54am
A cinnamon roll sits 3/4s eaten in my new tupperware container from my new lunchbox. I can't think of anything amazing to say. It's six minutes until--
11:55am
I'm starting to think that writing minute by minute might not have inspired the creativity I thought it would. All I can think, with five minutes till, is of the minutes in the lives of 33 people before seeing the world as it was for the last time. It's a depressing thought--but perhaps they're happy despite it all.
11:56am
I am stumped. Minutes should mean so much more and last so much longer than they do. If I were forced to live life minute by minute--I think I'd rush around so much I'd forget to see. And yet,
11:57am
People are talking in the halls. Students are gabbing rushing through the corridor in a slow gait. The clock on the wall is a little slow or fast. People are thinking, I can feel their thoughts. Some people aren't, and I can feel
11:58am
A minute lasts too long. People can think too much in a minute. They can second think, rethink, stop thinking, breath in and out enough to revive, stop breathing
11:59am
The boss called noon early according to my clock.
12:01
So I waited another minute. It's weird because I could still hear people talking.
12:02
Even though I could feel people pause.