The young man was fit and healthy. He could hear clearly the tick …tick…tick of the clock. It was a slow reassuring sound. As a young man his brain was wired to select a mate.
His eyes scanned and registered only sights of thighs, bosoms, pretty faces, sleek legs, a pint of beer and the promise of fun.
His ears heard the beat of drums, the tempo of the dance, the promise of party, the chat of females, the voices of love.
Life is a death trap on a short fuse.
He played his quadrophonic hi fidelity system on full for hours trying to arouse and repeat these primal urges of lust after reproduction. His purpose, his being, to purpetuate, his being.
The tick..tick..tick had got faster and fainter. Time accelerates at an alarmingly ugly speed.
He now remembers how slow the clock ticked but could not hear the sound.
He hears the screams of tinnitus, the bells of torture in his head.
His main amusement now, his television, switched to mute for fear of pain.
His fight for peace is nearly over. Turn it off.
The trap has sprung.