One Tick

By: Joel Wright

The music box had no price tag.

The seller only shrugged. “Eleven bucks.”

Inside it held a sapphire watch with two rings: on the outer ring a hare suspended mid-leap, on the inner a greyhound frozen in pursuit. On the back, a stiff figure-eight key. I wound it tightly.

Four long years later and we all know the cadence. Dun-dun-dun dah dun-dun dah dun. In our minds. In our sleep. Even coma patients report hearing it. The newscaster says scientists expect the effect to fade, but inside the endless music box, the hare and greyhound have moved only one tick.

© 2025. Joel Wright

Joel Wright is a young author who survived growing up in Picton, Australia. When not typing at his desk, he is regretfully typing in a corporate office, plotting his escape.

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