13th Hour

The hours in a day seem to flash past me without even a hiccup or a slow moving speed.

Most would say the opposite.

I am not most people. 

I live in fear. 

Fear from the arrival of the 13th hour.

Nobody seems to remember it.

I first experienced it, on my thirteenth birthday. 

I was helping my mother set up the back yard in anticipation for my big party.

She had gone inside to get more lawn chairs, but had never came back.

I waited for a couple minutes before following her inside.

I had noticed the kitchen clock stopped ticking.

My mother, was standing over the kitchen sink, staring. 

The water from the tap ran backwards, while she spoke gibberish.

She flashed me an evil grin, laughed and shut the water off. 

She then began walking backwards into the next room. 

The entire time she moved she continued talking in backwards sentences while smiling at me.

I followed her to the living room where Dad was knocking his head against the wall. 

He screamed while snapping his fingers. 

Confused, I tried pulling him off the wall, but he continued knocking harder until his forehead put a hole in the wall.

My only idea was to call 9-11.

I picked up the telephone and reached to dial, but a conversation was already in progress.  It was my own voice in mid conversation.

Myself was explaining the current situation, while my parents began screaming in the background. 

The line suddenly disconnects.

I hang up, only to be startled by my parents screaming in unison, while clapping their hands. 

They surround me.

I rush to my room and lock the door. 

At one point I hear my father knocking against my door.

I hide under the bed, covering my ears.

I manage to fall asleep. 

When I wake, I hear guests arrive downstairs.

I look out my bedroom window.

In the backyard are all my friends and family, celebrating my birthday. 

They are surrounded around me, blowing out the candles to my cake.

I rush to them.

The minute my foot hits the back step, the lawn explodes shooting me back into my house.

I stop breathing for a quick minute then open my eyes.

I am back where this all started.

My mom goes inside the house to retrieve a lawn chair.

I beg her not too, but she brushes me off.

I follow her inside.

The kitchen clock is fine.

For me, a whole hour has gone by, but to everyone else it's all the same.

I wonder if it was all a dream. 

Or a strong hallucinogenic.

This curiosity dies, because tomorrow a similiar scene takes place.

Every day it comes. 

The clocks stop ticking.

The rest of the world dissapears.

And I finally figure out.

Their is something evil within the 13th hour.

And it has only gotten worse, the older I get.