Grandpa’s Clock: #FridayFictioneers
Every time Ma sang Hickory Dickory Dock, I thought of Grandpa’s grand old clock. In my head a gigantic mouse would stealthily climb Grandpa’s clock. It would then twirl around in a tango with the little man playing the drums. Many moons have transcended time and tide. I’m back to Grandpa’s crumbling mansion. Grandpa ain’t around anymore, nor his clock. “Where is Grandpa’s cherished clock?” I ask the caretaker. “Oh! The British gifted Grandpa that clock. They claimed it…
