A Steady Pulse

The house settled into silence. From the wall above, a rhythmic pulse cut through the dark. Tick. Tock. A brass pendulum swung behind a narrow glass cabinet door left slightly ajar. I marched directly to the base of the cabinet. I did not reach for the pendulum. Instead, I pressed my heavy forearms flat against the lower wooden pillar supporting the casing. The tick reverberated down into my frame. Each swing sent a tiny, exact tremor through the timber into my chassis. Steady. Measured. An unwavering tempo. I locked my joints and stood anchored, matching my internal hum to the counterweight's descent.