(And people will stop fiddling with the damn clock and leave the time where it is!)
A large brick wall, visibly marred by bullets.
The sun rises, its deceptive, not-yet-searing, light softly illuminates a door opening.
From the door issues a crowd of people.
Cheerful, happy, perky, morning people issue forth. Shucks, yea, they've been sentenced to face the firing squad at dawn, but it's a beautiful morning, and they'll face it with a smile on thier face and a song in their heart, because that's the kind of people they are.
Around 10, the firing squad awakens, grumbling about how they have to get up early to do the dirty work. When they reach the prison yard, they see the condemmed, by now quite a different sight.
Gone are the smiles, they've perked their last.
After four or five extra hours of contemplating thier fate, they've gone damn near feral. Some reduced to tears, some catatonia. The wisest amoung them realize, "Had I only slept-in this morning, then at least I'd be able to die well. If only I had been less dedicated to the tyranny of the clock, I wouldn't be here at all."
The still sleepy firing squad makes a botch of it. Some of the prisoners have to be shot three times before they finally stop screaming. But that is to be expected, it's not even 11 yet, and the men haven't had their second coffee yet.
The screams reach a distant window. Not even waking, the leader of the revolutionary council absently swats at a hole in the dust where an alarm clock used to sit.