A long Finger quivered with a repressed urge. It straightened itself out, drummed itself on an ebony table restlessly and then sat motionless. Suddenly, it jerked up and ran, insofar as a finger can run, in a tight circle. This helped. It seemed to heave a big sigh of relief.
A few seconds passed innocently.
The Finger seemed to be swaying. A nervous hum escaped it. This hum slowly developed a nervous overture, a few jittery verses, an interlude, a refrain and a swelling climax. There was no one to applaud it's musical prowess, but the Finger wasn't affected by such trivialities. It was fixed, it had to admit to itself, unwavering on one pressing need which it knew it must not succumb to. It must not. It told itself so sternly.It thought waggling itself admonishingly might be a nice touch, but it couldn't really waggle itself at itself. The Finger flicked at a speck of dust irritatedly. It darted a sideways peek behind it and felt a thrill.
The Finger decided to make a plan. This only took one snickering second.
It turned around, extended itself and...
It was tickling a foot!
The Finger was ebullient. Why had not it done this before?
The foot, however, belonged to Time. It has been advised that it is not wise to tickle the feet of Time, however alluring it might be. This advice, buried under several cushions in the Finger's conscience, might have been what was causing it such agony.
It is not an advertised fact that Time is ticklish. Fingers that had ventured to a tummy or a knee(there are several) of Time always found they had a little too much time on their hands, time which sniggered out of shutters and chuckled out from patchwork rugs. No one had ever dared to tickle Time's feet before.
What happened was this - Time wriggled and bucked and guffawed and roared with delightful laughter and suddenly, there were little bubbles of seconds and hours and minutes, all congealed together and floating about the world. They settled on noses and creeped in-between clams and nestled next to cocoons. And one drifted into a particularly ancient cloud to form a castle in the air.
A few seconds passed innocently.
The Finger seemed to be swaying. A nervous hum escaped it. This hum slowly developed a nervous overture, a few jittery verses, an interlude, a refrain and a swelling climax. There was no one to applaud it's musical prowess, but the Finger wasn't affected by such trivialities. It was fixed, it had to admit to itself, unwavering on one pressing need which it knew it must not succumb to. It must not. It told itself so sternly.It thought waggling itself admonishingly might be a nice touch, but it couldn't really waggle itself at itself. The Finger flicked at a speck of dust irritatedly. It darted a sideways peek behind it and felt a thrill.
The Finger decided to make a plan. This only took one snickering second.
It turned around, extended itself and...
It was tickling a foot!
The Finger was ebullient. Why had not it done this before?
The foot, however, belonged to Time. It has been advised that it is not wise to tickle the feet of Time, however alluring it might be. This advice, buried under several cushions in the Finger's conscience, might have been what was causing it such agony.
It is not an advertised fact that Time is ticklish. Fingers that had ventured to a tummy or a knee(there are several) of Time always found they had a little too much time on their hands, time which sniggered out of shutters and chuckled out from patchwork rugs. No one had ever dared to tickle Time's feet before.
What happened was this - Time wriggled and bucked and guffawed and roared with delightful laughter and suddenly, there were little bubbles of seconds and hours and minutes, all congealed together and floating about the world. They settled on noses and creeped in-between clams and nestled next to cocoons. And one drifted into a particularly ancient cloud to form a castle in the air.
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