How much longer?

  The prisoner glanced up at the clock.

  An hour and thirty-six minutes left. He thought hungrily. He was so close to freedom, so close to escape….so close to the rest of his life. He could almost feel the cold round latch of the door in his palm, taste the sweet pure air beyond the thick walls.

   But in the cell, things were getting worse, and the clock seemed frozen, so slow had its halting tick-tocks grown. The prisoner fidgeted, trying to crouch further into the shadows of the corner. His cell mates were still at it. He hid his face, looking out again. The clock hadn’t moved. Would it never move? Would time cease to exist?

  He pulled his collar up over his face. Only a little longer.
 But time was growing slower.