pendulum

The pendulum is frozen in mid swing, hovering like her call half uttered before being swiftly cut off. The man’s hand grips the rod just above the weight, an awkward angle forcing him to hold harder, veins bulging through his skin. Even with the strain, he does not release slightly to regrip more comfortably, because at this moment, even the slightest change might start it ticking again. He seems to be trying to hold his breath as well, and a slight giggle escapes me. He tightens his grip, but doesn’t turn around.

Of course, he’s just an old man, so eventually, be it minutes, hours, or even weeks later, his strength will fail him and the pendulum will resume its path. Oh, there it is! I heard a tick. And there’s another, starting a steady rhythm once more. Why, he grew lonely much quicker than I expected.

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