A Picture is Worth 300 Words Challenge

I am sure most of you have heard the saying. "A picture is worth a thousand words". Maybe you have even participated in a challenge based on this quote. I decided that I wanted to do something similar but due to most of us being short on time I chose to make our word limit rather less. 300 in fact. Hopefully, small enough to fit in the comment box! So here's the challenge, write up to 300 words inspired by the above picture and leave it for me in the comments. If you can fit a whole story in that small space, go for it! If not simply come up with one scene. The story does not have to be fantasy like mine (below) but do make it relevant. The next part of the challenge involves you finding a picture and writing a scenario as a challenge to me! Either post it on your own blog and leave a link, or, if you are a LARK writer post it on this blog! I hope you find some inspiration and enjoy the challenge of making something this small, interesting! I'll admit, I found it tricky! :) See if you can do a better job than I.

Ready? Here is the picture: Go!

Ian stepped down the train car’s steps and out into the field of clocks. Little puffs of dust followed his footsteps as he shuffled to the nearest time keeper. Behind him, the train gave a shrill whistle and fled into the surrounding darkness leaving him utterly alone. Alone, to watch the time.The hands on the white face closest showed nearly midnight.  He fingered the warm black metal and rubbing his hand along the smooth surface his sensitive tips felt a strange set of patterned indents. A word! Straining his eyes in the dusty twilight the characters came into focus. Maude. He glanced up at the clock face again and it starred back down at him, strikingly white. The hands were getting very close to the twelve. Seconds away in fact. He could hear the tick, tick, tick. Then hands were covered the twelve.There was a click, a grind, and the clock began to shake and ring as if it was in pain.  He turned toward the faces surrounding him but none showed the same time. Then he felt something brush his cheek and something else struck him in the head. Ducking, Ian hugged the clock stem however nothing more fell. Squaring his shoulders he faced around. The black hands lay at his feet, the clock silent and stopped. The metal that he still clung to was fast growing cold. Then he understood. These clocks were people’s lives and time was running out--on all of them.