Part one here
Edward Shah was the youngest son of a doctor, who had been the richest man in the district. As the youngest son, Edward had inherited none of the wide property (the rape-seed and sunflower fields, the mango groves, the sterling silver Raj-era pocket watch) amassed by the patriarch. In fact, he had inherited only a vast collection of cheap plastic wall clocks emblazoned with the emblems of forgotten pharmaceutical companies and medicines. The clocks covered the inside walls of his high-ceilinged mud-brick dwelling, an expanse of clocks stretching in every direction, none of them telling the right time.
Outside, the parched breeze still whispered over the plain, and second by second, the old men got even older.
Nothing happened yet.
