Whispers of the Third Minute

The clock ticked a relentless melody, each second echoing through the dimly lit room. David's eyes flickered open, the pain in his head a dull throb that seemed to pulse in time with the rhythmic ticking. The room was a stark white box, devoid of any personal touches, save for a single object that lay at the center of his vision—a small, ornate pocket watch. It was the pocket watch that had been his father's, the one he had cherished as a child, the one that had always been his.

David's heart raced as he reached out to touch it, his fingers brushing against the cold, metallic surface. The watch was ticking, and David's mind raced as he tried to decipher the strange sensation that washed over him. He felt as though he was standing on the precipice of a memory, a memory that was about to repeat itself in a never-ending loop.

The door opened, and a shadowy figure stepped inside. It was his old friend, Tom, but something was different. Tom's eyes were hollow, his face pale, and there was a strange, almost sinister glint in his gaze. "David," he said, his voice a chilling echo of their past conversations, "you're not going to like this."

David's mind whirled as he tried to process the reality of the situation. He had been in this room before, countless times, but each time, the outcome was different. This time, he was determined to break the cycle. "What do you want from me, Tom?" he demanded, his voice laced with a mix of fear and defiance.

Tom's eyes flickered with malice as he stepped closer. "You're going to face the truth, David," he hissed. "The truth that has been haunting you for years."

The room seemed to shrink around them, the walls closing in on David as he fought to maintain his composure. He had seen this place before, had relived this moment countless times, and each time, it had ended in horror. He knew what was coming, knew the terror that awaited him.

Tom's grip tightened around David's throat, and he felt the familiar sensation of being choked by the air that refused to enter his lungs. "You can't escape it, David," Tom whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of David's heart. "You're trapped in the third minute."

David's vision blurred as he fought for breath, his mind racing through the possibilities. The third minute—the moment of his greatest fear, the moment when he had been forced to confront the truth about his father's past. He had tried to forget, to run from it, but it had always come back, always found him.

As the darkness enveloped him, David felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. He had been here before, had faced this terror, and he knew that this time, he would survive. He would break the cycle, would face the truth and move on.

When David opened his eyes, he was lying on the cold floor of the room, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The pocket watch was still in his hand, and the clock was ticking. He looked at Tom, who was now standing in the doorway, his face a mask of concern.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked, stepping into the room.

David nodded, his voice trembling. "I think I'm okay."

Tom reached out to touch the pocket watch, his fingers brushing against David's. "I'm glad," he said softly. "I really am."

David closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He knew that this was just the beginning, that he had to face the truth about his father and the past that had been haunting him. But he also knew that he was stronger than that past, that he could break the cycle and move on.

As the clock continued to tick, David felt a sense of peace settle over him. He had survived the third minute, and he would survive whatever came next.