A Morris had run the clock emporium in town for what seemed like forever.
The current Mr Morris knew his moment was getting close. Shuffling to the door he turned the sign around.
Closed for lunch
Knees creaking he settled into his worn leather armchair. One by one everything fell into place.
The fading patter of his heart.
The ticking of his clocks.
Even the shadow cast by the Victorian sundial fell perfectly over his wrinkled forehead.
Everything in the shop now played to the same beat. The time was now.
The wrinkles began to fade. The thick black hair returned as the once thinning grey disappeared. Liver spots were replaced by boyish freckles.
As the shadow moved away the shop was once more filled with the familiar random sound of ticks and tocks. Rising from his chair he wandered over to the shop door.
That first conversation was the same as always at this time.
“Old Mr Morris? Oh, he’s left the business to me. I’m his son.“
These 150’ish words (Ok, it’s 170 but what’s 20 words between friends!) represent my entry into this week’s Photo Fiction challenge on Alastair’s WordPress site. The picture is copyright of http://kattermonran.com/