Gemotions

The grandmother clock, a familiar presence in the hallway for as long as she could remember. The slow, rhythmic ticking had always been a comfort, the chimes a signal of the day's passage. Now, her father had announced he intended to sell it. She had no words.

She found herself walking towards it, drawn as if by an invisible magnet. The intricate carvings of the clock face seemed to shift and change before her eyes. The pendulum swung back and forth, a hypnotic metronome marking the beat of her racing heart.

She reached out and rested her hand on the cool wood. It felt ancient, timeless.