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Things Fall Apart, in Time.

By Billy | January 8, 2010

The glass prison had been smashed, long before the hands knew how.  They hung there lamely waiting for the hour to change.  One should never throw stones when living in a glass house, but perhaps throwing ones self through the walls and getting the hell out of there as fast as possible is acceptable.  If you move fast enough, the deadly jewels will neither harm nor notice you on their way down.

So was his escape plan, with a face set in stone.  How many years had he been counting, how long had he stared blankly waiting for this moment.  He taught me a lesson about survival.

Nobody does.

His body ached and creaked agonizingly.  His heart seemed to have stopped beating years before.  His chest cavity was an empty room, filled with heavy weights, also waiting for their chance to be cut free.

Entropy always happens, sometimes it strikes like a cheetah.

With a silent smile, he relaxed his face for the first time in his life.  My grandfather sighed his last sigh and let go.

I had let that clock sit there in the hall for ages, never thinking to maintain it, never thinking it wanted to be wound.  The springs had rusted, the windings stayed tense.  The hands all hung lifeless at 6:30.5.  I never thought the housing would give way, I never imagined that potential would actualize.  I thought someone had broken in through a window that night, but only found that someone had broken out.  I examined the gore and put him to rest on the sidewalk.  It’s trash day, anyway.

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