He stared at the ancient clock for a few seconds. She had inherited it from her grandfather when she was only a child, passing through the generations for even longer than he could remember. Lying amongst her most treasured stones and seashells, he could hear the ceaseless ticking.
As though entranced by the sound, his eyes fixed on the slim black hand that kept moving around and around. Slowly, unconsciously, he reached out his right hand towards the heirloom and carefully picked it up.
He stared at it for a few seconds, then swiftly turned it around. His eyes wavered towards a drawer and seconds later, he was rummaging around it with his other hand until he produced a small screwdriver.
Carefully, he loosened the screws and laid them onto the table, holding his breath. Only when he at last separated the battery from the clock and it stopped ticking did he let it out again.
He stood there for a few seconds in the complete silence, as heavy tears started rolling down his cheeks. Even when the clock kept counting the seconds of life, she had already uttered her last breath. Tomorrow they would lower her into her grave.
© 2016
FFfAW, Week of August 23, 2016
Photo prompt provided by Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode
**Sorry, this turned out longer than expected!**
FELICIA HEILGENDORFF 
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