from the book...

One hour had passed and there was still no sign, nor hint, of what was going to occur proceedingly. He was hopeful, the next idea he'd hatch would be an golden egg. He was working on his rather petite wooden writing desk, previously owned by his grandfather when he was an adolescent, passed on down to him. His pencil's point was only a tip away, until then suddenly; a blankness occurred.

After he woke up and realized that the second hour had arrived, stress and hopelessness entered his conscious mind. It had consumed almost his entire mind; when he remembered the words that his friend had told him earlier that autumny Sunday morning. The words that echoed back and forth in his mind where. His mind blanked again. No those weren't his friend's words. He seriously did blank out again. Though the second time he felt a strangely disoriented and ill.
The clock's chiming high pitched ring woke him up told him that yet another hour had past. The third hour had swiftly made it's appearance in this unwanted fiesta and there where still matters that had to be dealt with. He immediately dictated his pen to commence action. Scribbles and lines, like a one year old coloring on the hallway wall, started to form on the now non-blank piece of paper.

The fourth hour unexpectedly came shortly afterwards. Like a mugger in a dark alley pouncing out from behind you without any notice. The distant light blinded his eyes until he shielded himself with both of his forearms, from their powerful rays. After a few seconds he realized that it was now morning.