61.120 > The Clock Hits 6:00
Posted: Mon Jan 06, 2025 2:04 pm
Off Topic
Punxsutawney Ron Wakes Up Again
October 12, 2061 | Forever Land | The clock clicks with a cold resonance. From the radio, Sonny and Cher are finishing I Got You, Babe.
Seconds tick away until a voice-over hits.
“All right, kiddies! Rise and Shine! And don’t forget your gloves and booties because it’s cold out there today!” A second voice breaks in, filled with an equal amount of faux excitement as the first guy. “It’s cold out there every year! What is this, Yellow Springs?”
Finally rousing. Collins opens his eyes and slips immediately out of bed, heading to the bathroom and the mirror. As the voices ramble with still too much vigor, laughing and joking about the National Weather service calling for some kind of “Bluebird Thing,” he splashes water on his face and looks at his image in the mirror, knowing now with certainty what is coming but still compelled to move on.
He wraps the towel around his neck, rubs what’s left of his wet hair as he heads to the window to look out. Despite the overcast sky, a ray of sunlight slants downward, catching his gaze and making him blink, making him look away, eyes falling to the floor of his rented room where he sees the stark outline of his shadow.
Letting the blinds fall back to block the sun, Collins sighs.
“Same stuff, different year,” he mutters to himself. Then he goes on to finish his preparations for the day. There’s a meeting with his staff on the agenda. Time to talk about next year.
October 12, 2061 | Forever Land | The clock clicks with a cold resonance. From the radio, Sonny and Cher are finishing I Got You, Babe.
Seconds tick away until a voice-over hits.
“All right, kiddies! Rise and Shine! And don’t forget your gloves and booties because it’s cold out there today!” A second voice breaks in, filled with an equal amount of faux excitement as the first guy. “It’s cold out there every year! What is this, Yellow Springs?”
Finally rousing. Collins opens his eyes and slips immediately out of bed, heading to the bathroom and the mirror. As the voices ramble with still too much vigor, laughing and joking about the National Weather service calling for some kind of “Bluebird Thing,” he splashes water on his face and looks at his image in the mirror, knowing now with certainty what is coming but still compelled to move on.
He wraps the towel around his neck, rubs what’s left of his wet hair as he heads to the window to look out. Despite the overcast sky, a ray of sunlight slants downward, catching his gaze and making him blink, making him look away, eyes falling to the floor of his rented room where he sees the stark outline of his shadow.
Letting the blinds fall back to block the sun, Collins sighs.
“Same stuff, different year,” he mutters to himself. Then he goes on to finish his preparations for the day. There’s a meeting with his staff on the agenda. Time to talk about next year.