The Clock

This is a time piece that was published in The Siren.

Time had the face of an autistic sentiment that knew no difference from measurement and reason. He spoke in between the silent tic toc of a question mark. What are you doing? How are you making the most of your life? From place to place he would stay the same. Stoic to a point and sturdy to a surface, he remained hung from a place of authority. When minutes became hours and days became weeks, his face grew no shorter from the pleasure that he reaped. When time finally ended, there was no alarm. His breaths were fatal in stagnation.

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