He sat there at his desk inside the workshop every day. He’d always watch the grandfather clock. An antique open clock at the center of his clockwork shop. The gears would get stuck and fall out. They would lag and loosen. He would immediately get up and tighten and repair anything that was failing it. No matter how many times it died he dedicated his time to keep it alive. His hands were stained by dark oil. His hands day by day were getting rougher and rawer. He did nothing but watch the clock. The wrench bonded to his hand. The room gray with other rusted clockwork pieces and dust. Soon it was near midnight. A crucial cog came loose and he rushed to fix it. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t fix it. The clock stopped cold a minute before midnight. The other clocks stopped too. Never to strike 12 with their hands. The man froze for a second. He stood up from the floor and walked towards the door. He tried letting go of the wrench but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t let it go. His other hand stuck to a spare cog bonded to his very flesh. He always kept it on hand just in case the clock needed an extra push. His fingers refused to open. He tried everything to let go of the parts of his clock, so he could open the door to leave. Now stuck in the casing of his life’s work. Left floundering about what comes next. He leaned against the door stuck in his own case of his life’s work.