Now is the "Telling Time."
This short story, written 13 years ago will take a new meaning by the end of this month.
The story was written after I almost died in my sleep one night. The week prior to the night in question had been strenuous, and tiring for me, as I got little sleep. By Friday, I was beat, I'd had two incidents of choking, and then fell into a dead sleep.
By the end of this month, if I don't get a reply from the literary agent I contacted in London, it will be the end of all my hope to be recognised as a writer
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