tick. tock. tick-
a clock's only ability is to tell the time something is happening to humans who simply couldn't care. the noises it makes annoy everyone yet if we didn't have it we would be lost.
in a small library when the curtains brush softly against the dark, wooden bookshelves as their books come and go. the books don't exactly have a bond with the shelf. they're inanimate but some people don't like assuming that.
a pale hand grasps onto one of the books; a brown book. it's rough leather cover with a soft, smooth hand is one they both get something out of anything. attachment.
flipping through the pages, the weak paper embroided with a light pattern and dark words and letters that are supposed to mean something. these words just multiply and multiply, but somewhat they grasp people's emotions.
all the hand can do is keep turning with no stop....