Taciturn the clock in the tower observed, one by one the boys passing under its skirts. While he felt the wind, he thought calmly if any of the youngsters would remember him at the end of his days.
Mister Clock was proud, but worried that time also passed by him, tried to do his work faithfully, precisely, without getting ahead or falling behind, so maybe he will be remembered for being punctual, exact and fair. An impeccable worker, who did not discriminate anyone. He would always give everyone the same time.
So the years went by and the decades crowded, his elongated and massive body was deteriorating, until at the end of his own time, already with his gears without any remedy, almost a second before his last tic tac expired, a wrinkled old man approached him, took a photograph and whispered a meaningful: thank you.
For that old clock, standing counting the hours since it had memory, that moment became an eternity and that photo in the proof of its existence.
To the clock of the Rectorship of the UCV
Text, photography and original edition by Michel Camacaro
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