Gemotions

He stared at the old oak grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth with a relentless rhythm. The clock, passed down through generations, had always been a constant in his life. His brother, Henry, needed the money for the farm. It was his only option.

The tick-tock of the clock seemed to amplify the silence in the room. He knew. Henry had needed the funds for months. The farm was dying. The clock would go.

He sat down, his shoulders slumping. He felt a deep weariness, a sense of inevitability. He simply watched the clock, the relentless swing of the pendulum mirroring the relentless march of time, and the relentless loss of everything.