Cell

Albert, Maria and their daughter Alma lived in a peculiar house that had a glass ceiling. The house was geometrically well proportioned and its white floor was beautifully designed with ornamental markings all along its walls.

Three of them were attached strongly to Albert's mother Julia, who lived in her own seperate room adjescent to the house. They were like planets revolving in their defined orbit around a common sun. Julia was their source of inspiration, guidance and energy.

Albert, the head of the family owned responsibility of taking care of the larger aspects and he made sure he invested a great deal of time thinking and making his moves slowly and carefully.

Maria kept the house in order, she would run around the place whole day. She had probably the most hectic routine, she could barely remain at a single spot for perhaps not more than a few minutes.

Alma was like a bucket of overflowing energy so much so that she could hardly be kept stationed at one place, hopping and jumping all the time, bumping too often into her mother and Albert as she ran around.

Old Julia sat in her chair watching the family. Her age was catching up, she would feel the weakness at times but kept her efforts on to keep the house in order and moving.

One day, as Julia's weakness overpowered her strength, she fell ill. The house started to come to a grinding halt.

Albert could now barely focus or follow his daily routine. Maria's running around the house slowed down considerably and Alma's gleam seemed to turn into gloom.

The clock seemed to stop.

"Some problem with the time it seems" Anne asked Michael.
"Looks so, her hands have stopped moving, perhaps the battery is dying" said Michael looking at the 'WALL CLOCK' in their living room. ■