tick tock.

The bare light bulb swings back and forth casting everchanging shadows around the cramped room.

tick tock. tick.

A musk hangs in the air, the smell of yellowed newspaper and damp walls sinking through the clean cloth that she held to her mouth. The bulb starts buzzing slightly above her head, as if to protest being awaken after so long.

tick tock.

It is smaller here than she remembers. She does hate coming down to the storage locker.

kcit kcot.

And that infernal clock. Does it even keep the time anymore? She looks up to find the arms moving counter clockwise.

Tick. imaclock.

She crouches on her knees and starts digging through the boxes.
The first box is filled with warm sand. Her hands dig through. No.
She pulls out another box, this one filled with a clear night’s sky. Orion winks at her.
By the fifth box, her hands are wet, her eyebrows singed and the sound of trumpet still rings in her ears.

tick?

But she has found her red umbrella. And with that, my muse is ready to pay me a visit.