Flash Fiction

The clock ticks just twice more and then stops. The house floods with unused empty silence. 

The recently modernised house had been deserted some thirteen months, the owners having fled in the face of the rising waters, yet the clock had continued to tick despite the abandonment, each tick measuring the water's rise. With no one to read it's face the clock returned to its natural state, continuous determination. But yet, despite its valiant effort, it too became yet another victim of the rising waters. It's batteries and workings slowly succumbing to the rising heat and increasing damp. 

Sometime after the clock stopped it's ticking the rusting nail holding it to the wall gave way and the clock tumbled to the floor landing face down in a foot or so of dirty water. It floated on the water's surface for now untold time while the water rose incessantly toward the level of the rotten window frame. Gentle gusts of warm wet wind blew the clock carcass out through the frame of the window into the decaying world. Exposed, out in the changed and unstable world the disintegration of the clock increased apace until time itself became a forgotten memory.