Nature of the Anxious

Where in the world am I? I feel it, it’s there on my shoulder just sitting there keeping me company. Clinging to my thoughts so rich in its worry, darkness, and dismay. A being so minuscule in size, yet so strong. Binding to my shoulder and whispers, whispers his worry; feeling his fear weighing down my chest like lead.

Tick-tock

Amidst his tiny claws he slacks there cupping a watch rusting from tears and etched with strained, fracturing glass slowly going tick-tock-tick-tock. "Sir, sir do you like my clock? I will never let go," He whispers.

Tick-tock

“Please go away, I feel I cannot catch a breath. For something so light your grip is fast; tiny in size but vice heavy. Weary from hoping for a merciful end.”

Tick-tock

“Ol’ chap I intend no harm upon thee, solely for a listening ear and some compassion,” confessed the innocent being. “Look at the time and I will share my worries.”

Tick-tock

Muttering away, politely jesting onward the beast did lay with the reoccurring dismay; leaving its victim baffled in a limbo of worries and answers to appease.

Tick-tock

“Where are you now? I can feel and hear your presence; though you are loose like sand in an hourglass—Wait!” he gasped as his throat tightened up. “Calm down sir,” the squeaky voice uttered, "you have plenty of time to fret; for you have experienced nothing yet.”

Tick-tock

“Show yourself, show yourself, please. What is it that you want,” the victim begged. Nothing but eerie silence was heard, and a flaky, dry hand sliding down his collarbone; proceeding until it met rigid chest muscles. “I simply want a friend; you know, a mate to share the good and bad with; to share my troubles.

Tick-tock

"Tell me, how does it feel when nothing gets done, plenty to do and time literally slips through your fingertips," heckled the tiny beast. "Something as subjective as time flows freely, but time delays for no one; it is greedy." Pacing to-and-fro with overwhelming emotions that drives the mind insane with truthful lies."

"Stop! Please end this and leave me be, let me sleep in peace, bemoaned the boy growing in distress. "You want to be friends but didn't even tell me your name." "Pardon any rudeness, my name is Phobos, it means fear or panic," he mumbled.

Tick-tock

As the night wore on the sleep-deprived boy grew colder and more adamant, until the little guest declared his name. "Hush now, time to rest mate, go to bed. Though, making your acquaintance has made me hungry; and I see a tasty morsel growing ever tastier in dismay," Phobos's voice echoed.

Finally, the creature materialized the viscus shadows of the boy's room and tore off his skull mask—nothing but a dark hole and engulfed his prize like the glutton he was. The clock struck twelve and he awoke with his little monster sitting comfortably upon him, staring and caressing his clock. All that was left was a hollow husk of his victim's self—voice dissolved, all leaving only except and a reverberating ribcage going tick-tock, tick-tock.