M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him in a thousand tongues of old) is almost awake. In the land between, there is a Grey mist all over, as slithering clocks melt away the final seconds of his delicious slumber.
Snooze.
Silence.
The clocks scatter and hide, waiting for their moment.
Five hundred and forty seconds have passed since the clock was last heard by mortal ear. A cold silence has since taken over the land, and M is dreaming of electric sheep, Tannhauser gate, and the shoulder of Orion.
Like a siren through the fog, the clock pierces the mornings with a recurring beep.
eeeep....eeeep....eEeEp...EEEEp...EEEEP....
Snooze.
Silence.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
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