The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 03:40:24 -

The Wistful Petal

The clock stopped. It did not tick. It did not hum. It simply ceased to exist in time. I looked at it. The hands were frozen at three. The room was dark. The air was thick. I held the brass. It was cold. It was heavy. It was mine. I had bought it for a penny. I had paid with a song. The shopkeeper had smiled. He had no teeth. His eyes were glass. He was a ghost. Or I was. Who knows? The walls...

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