The aging clockmaker set down his tools and glanced at one of his many watches. It didn’t matter if the timepiece ran forwards, backwards, side to side, or announced the time in Bangkok, they all told him the same thing: it was late. He stretched his knobby fingers, & placed his newest creation on the wall. It was a simple piece: the typical round face, heavy numbers contrasting with the light face, a quiet-yet-sprightly chime, modestly ornate hands, & an austere brass pendulum. Nothing special, really.
But there was something to be said about the old man’s clocks. Each was different, not only in appearance, but behavior. How can a clock behave, you may ask? Perhaps the timbre of the audible mechanisms, or the sheen a coat of varnish may have. Or maybe the temperament a particular clock may have.
The clocks, whether perched on the wall or crouching on a table, slept most soundly, clicking quietly to themselves. But not this newest clock. It sat awake, listening to the rather boring sound of his own ticking.