When The Clock Stops

Ticktock, ticktock, until the spring has sprung in the works of a clock. As for such a piece, the time has now ceased, but there are others that continue to talk. Ticktock, ticktock. The hands have ceased to move, they no longer know the passage of time. They are...

The Well of Refuge

Thirsting, even to the point of death, for my well has run dry. There is a well, but the journey is far, down a rocky path where enemies hide in the cliffs waiting to kill. To live, the only option is to risk destroying my flesh to gather the life-giving water, so I...