This response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt, Perplexed, is my stab at a little mad whimsy in honor of Roald Dahl’s 100th birthday yesterday.

The girl in the bed with a cat on her head hit the clock on the table and started this fable.

“SHUT UP!” she said, slapping the snooze, licking her lips, still tasting the booze.

Just right then, the clock drew the line. All he had done was keep the right time.

He’d done so for years, every second and minute, buzzing and ringing, his whole heart in it.

And what did he get in return every morning? A hello, thank you or respectable warning?

No, nope, certainly not. A hard, mean slap on the head he got.

Enough abuse he decided today and turned off his snooze button. YAY.

The girl and the cat slept for hours and hours. The cat awoke first and swatted the flowers.

CRASH went the vase from table to floor. The naughty cat laughed and ran out the door.

The girl sat up straight and looked at the clock.

She squinted and gasped and stared unbelieving…confused, not amused, vexed and perplexed.

“I’m late! So late!” she yelled and cried. She missed her plane, smashed the clock, rolled over and died.

A suggestion to all who slam the snooze button: be nice to your clock.

 

 

 

 

 

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