Clockwork

A tall dark handsome clock shadowed the creature that leaned against the wall. This one spot was free of dust and debris. They had stood here, the clock and the creature, many times and would stand many times again. The clock whirled away the seconds by the gears and arms ticking methodically. The creature did not pass time at all. It was always in that moment when the sun is only just missing and the moon is ready to take stage.

A black inkwell and an ornate quill rested on a desk, untouched. The black words of a letter faded to gray. On the edges of the frail old parchment stood clear imprints of three little fingers, as though a mouse had peered over the desk and changed his mind and turned back.

The creature and the clock watched the shades of day pass through the room as seconds went tick, tick, ticking by. And one long gray hair fell gracefully from the creatures head and drifted like a feather to the cold worn floor. One more piece of debris.