Gears in the Dark

The steady, metallic click of a mechanical wristwatch drew me across the low table. It lay unclasped against the dark wood, its glass dome catching the room's low amber light. I climbed the sloped links of the steel strap, testing the cold metal underfoot. One firm stride brought me to the center of the crystal face. Beneath my feet, exposed brass cogs turned without pause, keeping a relentless rhythm in the quiet room. A miniature machine, precise and indifferent. I rested one hand on my hip, letting the sweep of the second hand glide directly beneath the sole of my sandal. Adequate craftsmanship.