Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: quarantine

Clock Tower

The clock tower gives a mighty brazen sound. The quarantine is three weeks old now; the buildings around have been entirely evacuated. The temple stands as it was three weeks ago, but lacking people, all its rare books and silver untouched.

A church bench has been hastily dragged from inside the temple to barricade the tower’s door, along with boards and nails and sheets of metal.

If you observe from far up, you can see the first few, weak, tugs at the rope before the bell gets into full swing, on the 12th and the 24th hour of every day.


There is a giant circus-like tent hanging over it, ridiculously. See-through plastic windows have been clumsily sewed to the sides. Red graffiti tags adorn the hemline. The ship’s been out there twenty-nine days now, a stone’s throw from the harbour, and officially we need to wait another eleven days. There are no faces staring out at us from the windows, we know we need to burn it on the fortieth day, and we are anxious to. But rules are rules. On the forty-first, the ship will shrug its sheets off, hoist its ropes up, unfurl its cloth and sail away.