The second hand is different than the other hands. It is slender and red as it scurries around its glass cage. My eyes follow my quarry. It is trying to make me dizzy. I will stop its mad, pointless dash. I will brace myself against the wall like a fly as I break the glass cage. I will grasp the slender point with two fists. I will not fall backwards. I will leap nimbly down, point in hand, and I will puncture my forehead with the slender object. I will not bleed. My skin will engulf the second hand and it will be gone. Somewhere it may float in the confines of my mind but I shall never see it again.

What? Don't tell me you don't watch the clock anxiously on Friday afternoons before October break! Don't tell me it doesn't mess with your head!