There is a clock that is engulfed in flames. Over the
crackling of the fire, you can still hear the repetitive, endless cry of the
clock: Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It is all hypnotic, entrancing, hard to pull
away from. The heat from the flames is uncomfortable, yet begs you to come in
closer until you realize you enjoy it. The intensity of the prickly warmth,
both painful and comforting, feels familiar. The clock begins to melt, the
ticks and tocks becoming slower. You are losing track of time. A strong wind
comes, giving you chills. As the strong gust continues the fire dissipates. What
is left is a disfigured clock, still ticking off the seconds, and smoldering embers
resting beneath.
No comments:
Post a Comment