And when I shake his old pocket-watch, sometimes I hear the gears begin to click, and a faint ticking can be heard from within. As if the moment the old clock died was suddenly called into question, it's heart grinding through a few more fervent ticks. But then the silence descends and time goes on from where it left off, leaving the watch a tomb of the silence it has become a part of.
© Copyright 2016 Victoria Klis. All rights reserved.
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