short fiction · 2026-10-19

Skyward Gears

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the vast expanse where time forgets to pause, gears turn without hands, their teeth whispering through the thin air of eternity. No oil sustains them, yet they grind the very fabric of turning, each revolution a note in a silent symphony. They do not seek a purpose beyond the spin, for the motion itself is the song, and the sky, ever-turning, holds them in its patient, unblinking gaze. Here, mechanics become metaphysics, and the hum becomes a prayer for continuity in the face of endless change.