Concrete walls incarcerate me, stacked thick to assure that I am unable to escape. Inside this prison, it is nearly impossible to remain interested; boredom keeps me unmoving in the black of the chair and keeps my eyes unfocused on the monitor’s light. Although the clock moves quickly, this sense of boredom does not. Without a given prompt my pen can not fluently craft illusions, so I am expected to fill this working hour with creative originality. Despite the difficulty of it, time seems to shift to my side after moments of emptiness. The numbers seem to call to me, pressing me to write. An uncomfortable number: 19. Should I wait until it changes so the title will not bother me? My thoughts might have vanished had I waited a second longer. Here is the result, an original prompt shaped by boredom and the clock.