The clock, half buried as it was, drew Marlon forward. He had never seen its like. His steps hesitant, weak, at first, he leaned heavily on his cane.
Stronger with each step, he approached, aware now of the hands of the clock running backward. Back unbent for the first time in decades, he dropped the cane, stepping through what he now recognized as a doorway, beyond which lay only light.
This microfiction was inspired by the image.
Loved it :) I am somewhat behind on reading your posts, but the timing of me reading this was spot on as a good friend of mine lost his mother on Friday. Let's hope her back is unbent as well now!
Coming home 💕