Too Slow

Today’s prompt: “Open your kitchen cabinet. Write a scene incorporating the first three things you see.” [Molasses, honey, spaghetti.]

Time slows to a crawl.

You try to move, but it’s like you’re swimming through molasses. Through January-slow molasses, arctic-friggin’-winter molasses. The world is coming at you, the monsters are coming at you, but you can barely move. Your limbs flail. Your muscles spasm. They feel like overcooked spaghetti. The monsters are coming at you, but the time between when you took your first step to run and the time when you took your second feels like it could have fit in the full 14-and-a-half-minute version of Rapper’s Delight past the bit about Superman, past the bit about the can of beer sweeter than honey, right up to the point about the soggy macaroni and the chicken that tastes like wood.

The monsters are coming at you. And you can’t move.