Exercises on Free Writing

He, She and Time

As the Cambridge-bound train pulled out of King's Cross station at 14:52, he gave his last sigh in a hospital in south London. His wife, now widow, was called two and half minutes after he’d died and broke down in tears by his bedside. The funeral was arranged for four days hence at 15:32 the way he had always wanted it.

Theirs had been a fruitful if methodical life. Ruled always by the ever ubiquitous Lord Time their existence had been full of minutes, seconds and nanoseconds. They, however, did not care one jot.

He was born at 05:09am in the year the Third World War finally came to an end and the electric car became a must-have fashion accessory.

She was born at 06:09am in the year people finally drove to work in their trendy, dynamo-charged vehicles and Eurasia, Oceania and Eastasia put their weapons down once and for all.

They met on the 16th day of the 11th month at university at 17:12 as they came out of the building. He was eighteen years, eleven months, twenty-nine days, eleven hours, fifty-seven minutes old. She was eighteen years, eleven months, twenty—nine days, twelve hours, fifty-seven minutes old. They both smiled at each other for twelve seconds before being pushed roughly aside by the exiting crowd.

From that moment on, they both grew fond of each other. He was so gentle, always caressing her hands, ten seconds flat each. She was so demure and dainty, usually stroking his handsome face and pinching his chubby, rosy cheeks. For three seconds each.

Sex was an activity in which they delighted. His penis always lay coiled like a spring, waiting to be awakened fifty-three seconds after her skilful hands fondled it. Likewise, her own sex became moist a whole two minutes and twenty-two seconds after he initiated foreplay. Penetration+orgasms= four minutes thirty seconds always. On one occasion he came two seconds earlier than usual and refused to talk to his sexual organ for a month as punishment. His penis limped off in abject sadness.

Their children arrived eighteen years, eleven months, twenty-nine days, eleven hours, fifty-seven minutes later. And of course they were twins. Born with an hour's difference. They all had a marvellous life together. Father worked for a software company and mother was a lecturer at a nearby university.

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The pallbearers got underway at 15:20. Twelve minutes separated the coffin from the hole. Eight legs (one of them prosthetic) supported the bodies of four men carrying the wooden box to its final destination. With one minute left and nearer his final resting place, one of the men tripped up (not the one with the prosthetic leg) causing the coffin to slide down and fall into the hole sixty seconds before it was due to be placed inside it. At the same time the delayed 15:22 Peterborough-bound train was leaving from Kings Cross station. Inside the coffin an eyebrow raised.

Written by the blog's author

Image of the King's Cross Clock taken from www.flickr.com

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