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A drop falls from the cavern ceiling.

Like millions before, it plummets to the tip of a spire;

One raised not by the water, but by the impetus of eternity.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Two hands, one small and one large, slowly patrol in a loop.

They have made the journey countless times.

What remains for them to discover on their endless march?

Crash. Crash. Crash.


The tides pound roughly against the beach.

The grains of sand rise and fall;

The earth itself an hourglass.




The operator keys his final message.

As he does, he surrenders himself to the ages.

How long will his mechanical cries take to reach another soul?

Note: the onomatopoeia spell out the word ‘eons’ in Morse code.

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