There once was a world made of clockwork, of ticking gears and gleaming bronze, made by hands old as the stars, hands that turned first to bone and then to dust, scattered upon the winds over an endless desert a thousand ages before the clockwork people began to think.
All things begin to think if you leave them long enough. They dream simple things – dreams of turning, dreams of whirring – those simple things become complex as a spider’s web, and then the thinkers Are.
A clock as tall as a mountain sat at the heart of this world, surrounded by a city of rising rings where each and every object was in motion. Upon the turrets of the clock, over the numbers of the moon-round face, rested the dragon. All the clockwork people feared the dragon, for death was in its rusting breath and its ruby-bright eyes.
All save one: a clockwork knight of shining steel.
The knight feared nothing, for that that was how he had been built, and he braved rust-breath with cutting sword and gleaming shield.
Day after day, knight and dragon fought, their duel without end, until the day when all gears will run down.
Word Count: 199
This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Thanks to Jade M. Wong for the photo!