Time

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Seconds pass by, dripping slowly into minutes and hours and days. Sand slides softly through an hourglass, recording the lives that wander through the dusty years. A world slowly crumbling from the inside lives by the clock, making sure that the brainwashed masses get to their computers by precisely 9 o'clock everyday, only to have them all run away at exactly 5. Run away back to their houses and apartments and street corners, back to their husbands and wives, run back to the comfortable passing of time in their life. People let the moments slide past them but are horrified by each year that ends wasted, empty. If you are wise wih your time, you will build the little memories into an imaginary palace as tall as the sky and as wide as the horizon, where you can live after time stops ticking in the world.