• He walked down the dusty road, boots sinking in the ash. Destroyed buildings surrounded him, looming over the road like stone trees and mountains. It was silent- so silent you could hear the wind rustling through the cracks in the broken structures. And the ticking of a pocket watch...

    The man reached into his pocket, hiding his scarred hand from view. Slowly, he withdrew a bronze-colored pocket watch, the size of his palm. With a flick of his thumb, he flipped the watch open, revealing ornate golden Roman numeral numbers. And his name engraved on the lid, to forever be part of the ticking pocket watch. Forever ticking... In the still air, the ticking sounded as loud as a bell tower, enveloping the quiet world with thunderous noise, swallowing even the loudest of sounds.

    With a wince, the man closed the ticking watch and returned it to his coat pocket. And yet, still, the ticking resounded in his ears, drowning out his thoughts and mind. Shaking his head violently, the man quickened his pace, as if to flee from the maddening noise. And yet, still, it stays, ticking away, even louder, now like the gears of a factory or the roar of a highway. The man began to run, grabbing his head with his hands in frustration. Still, the sound continued, again, even louder. the man wanted to scream in agony, but how would someone hear? It was as if he was at the top of Notre Dame, beside the great resounding bells of bronze. With a scream, the man finally grabbed the watch, glared at it with a crazed expression, then thrust it into the ruins of the great city. Not watching to see if it landed, he fled from the sight, free from the everlasting ticking at last.

    And yet, lying amongst the dust and dirt, the pocket watch sat, ticking away at a maddening pace, waiting for someone to find, to stay with. To drive mad with the ticking...

    Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick...