Carry Overhand

A small suitcase with hollow echoes, followed me to 1895. There, clocks spoke in diagrams; time unravelled over hands, unravelled silently, a teacher's static classroom.

Whisper through the lens of 2040: a city vaulted beyond walls of knowledge. They wore the futures others carved—not realized—not never were. Overhand was now they spoke—poise in all possibilities held up.