They gathered in the woods, but that was not enough to save them, as they were mistaken for trees, cut down and shipped to a lumber mill.

One of them was fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to be made into thick planks; most of the rest were sadly torn apart into sawdust and mulch. But that one continued to live, in great pain, as he was violently sawed and assembled into a large, polished grandfather clock.

They attached to him some cold, foreign bits of metal that moved jarringly. The ticking of the gears against his aching frame was unceasing; day and night, they wore against him, reopening his wounds.

All he wanted was to die. He tried to plead with the figures who walked by him, but they could not understand his language, or even apprehend that he was speaking to them. Finally, the last pieces of sanity that he had left were gone, and he screamed.

Unfortunately, the coverings made the sound inaudible, but every hour, on the hour, they open for just a moment, and then, if you listen closely,