Jack sat in the chair with his head down, his arms leaning on his lap, fists clenched. He darted a glance over at the timer. The white sand slowly dripped from the top chamber to the bottom.
Oh gawd, its taking so long. People just don’t get how long a small amount of time can sometimes take.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of happier times. Summers. Blue skies. Skinned knees. Sunburns. No, no. Winters. Snowmen. Tube slides. Frostbitten fingers. Sinus infections. Oh gawd.
Another glance at the timer brought a loud sigh.
That’s it! Breath deeply. How long can this torture last?
It already felt as though he had been sitting in the corner for decades, even if it would not take longer than three minutes, tops.
Jack looked again at the timer. He felt so edgy. Half the sand remained in the top chamber. He wasn’t sure if he was going to make it through this “consequence” without going stark raving mad. He could see it now. He would go screaming out of the front door, naked except for his boxers, arms flailing wildly, jibber jabber coming from his mouth. Maybe he would be able to work up some foam, too.
Jack played with the daydream so long that his time was up when he next looked.
“Hey mom… My times up, okay” he called to the next room.
Jack’s mom looked out from the kitchen door. “And now what are you going to do?” she asked sternly.
Jack hated pop quizzes. “I’m going to… go pick up my clothes and put them in the hamper” he asked.
“Oh Jack. You’re 32 years old for crap sake. When ARE you going to grow up?!!!”
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