Dearest Richard,
If you find this letter, then perhaps there is a chance for us after all.
Do you remember when and where I bought the clock? A bric-a-brac impulse in happier times.
Each hour the little man emerges from his arched door and chimes the hour amidst a tinny fanfare. I imagine he was important once, but like so many things, time marginalised him into an anonymous oddity. In that respect he and I are very much alike. I have placed this missive in his arms. Every sixty minutes he will offer you a way back, if you have the eyes to see and the heart to remember…and if not…
Written for: Friday Fictioneers
Martin Cororan 