The Man with a Clock in His Head - A Short Story

What? Oh! What is it? Have you yet to remember?
"Midnight, no, no... three? Is it? Is it three?3 A.M.?"
   I pondered anxiously, over and over again, quivering tediously. With cautious steps, looping about, I paced back and forth, contemplating my seemingly impossible deed—but why?
A clock's chiming began ominously.
   A quiet heart of mine skips its required beats, causing my steps to continue uneasily with each passing moment. Dear God, how afraid I am. Fear continues to shroud my body like an ominous cloak. Fear was taking over my enclosed soul.
But why? Unfortunately, I do fail to remember.
  This damn itch. Oh, this feels like an itch that I cannot scratch! My mind cursed incessantly.
  How so? In such a warm-lit office consisting of an enlightened home, a light casts an unforgiving, monstrous shadow on me. How can that be? How can such an environment display such unsettling, contagious emotions? Outside, it is light, but how? In such despair? Is the time incorrect? A nervous, twiddling thought danced throughout my head—but why? Unfortunately, I do fail to remember.
    I paced further throughout my cluttered space, yet, time was the only appeal.
     "What is it? Is it four?
"No. It must be five by now?"
What? Oh! Dare I quiver? Dare you remember at last? An impatient voice echoed.  
  The single light beamed down on me with such stressful force. My feet repeatedly stepped in circles of fear; the fear began to choke me, like his unforgiving hands—his struggling hands.
"I can hear the clock?"
    "Where is it?
       "Manny?"
My voice shook. The uncomfortably warm light beamed onto me, increasing its motive. The clock's chiming echoed even louder now, shivering my spine.
I began to jolt, questioning this now-forward sensation.
   My eyes began to water; my hands naturally curved to stifle.
What? Hell on you, Mark! Hell to pay has yet begun! A voice questioned in a familiar echo, coupled with annoying ticking.
   But then, I noticed—now reminded of my deed.
  I slowly began to look down, and I saw it. It was too late.
  "No. No. No. Three? Four? Five? Six?
"No, it is twelve—12:30? My voice quickened its pace, then quietly lowered its tone.
   My hands stood out in the spotlight. I could not set my eyes off them, nor could I stifle my rapid mouth!
The clock now ticked impatiently, coupled with an even intenser beam.
   "Oh! Oh, the night! Yet, where has it gone?" My voice shook, and my eyes watered uncontrollably. Unspeakable measures my eyes took, all to bake uncomfortable tears. I began reassuring my fear, "No! No, I know it now; I-it's 56:67! Yes! F-fantastic find, Mark!"
Oh, dear sorrow-sparked Mark, you fool! You will swallow blood! The voice yet again echoed, but this time in an aggressive manner.
   The blood I had reminisced of had rushed to my sight. Blood of former friend—or foe?
The light beamed strong.
   To my blatant shock! Blood appeared smeared all over my quivering hands.
Then suddenly, the light exploded. Glass flung throughout my office, causing me to stutter.
Darkness, at last. That same voice echoed.
   "T-the... walls?" I nervously questioned the undeniably baffling behavior.
My office is melting red. A pool of blood was now surrounding me. My dark office was no more—the walls: blood, beneath my feet: blood, and the ceiling: blood. The blood choked me, much like a struggling weight. 
   The blood dripped down, slowly shrouding all I've ever known: myself.
    "What do you want?" I yelled.
"I satisfied your request for the time, and I gave you your due. What more do you want from me, Manny?" The blood continued to drip, raining even more now.
   The blood poured onto every part of me; breathing was an immense struggle—too thick for Manny.
   "Manny! It is 67:28! The time is yours! Please let me go, friend! Your blood is too thick, too thick for my mind!"
   My repetitive cries for mercy were indistinguishable to his ears; the blood's refusal to rest shrouded my screeches for freedom--everything I have ever known.
The echo recited for an eternity. Yes, Mark, it is dark where you and I perish—now, forever with me.