I did another 99-word story for the picture below.
WHEN THE CLOCK STOPPED
The delicate porcelain clock trimmed in gold had stopped running at exactly 4:08 a.m.—when I took my first breath.
“You were my miracle.” Mother would say, dusting the clock no one was allowed to touch.
Now it sits on my mantel. My grandson tried to fix it, but the motor, and the clock’s arms, wouldn’t budge.
Today I woke up feeling unwell. I picked up the phone to call my doctor when I heard a gentle ticking. The clock was running.
Then, everything disappeared into a golden glow, and I found myself gathered in my mother’s arms again.