(SFX wind rising and falling for several seconds - a rainstorm begins)
Narrator (begins slowly in a soft, deep voice): Far above a dark river, at the top of a towering cathedral wall, sits a stone sculpture of something. It might be a winged ape resting its chin in its hands. The gears of the sun run the course of the seasons over and over; rain and hard weather come and go. Year after year the ape’s expression softens.
(SFX Rainstorm fades slowly during following lines)
On a warm June night, a storm rages over the ancient city. The howling wind whips hard rain against the ape’s eyes. . . and from behind those eyes, a thickly insulated germ of awareness listens, straining to hear the murmuring of unknown clockworks in the sub-foundation, in a hidden chamber. Old gears are coming around at last to the end of another cycle. . . only one unpolished tooth away from completing an ancient round. Then the final cog on the smallest wheel clicks into place . . . and a little hammer comes down sharply upon a tarnished silver bell. The clear tone is carried op the great stone wall . . . .
(SFX Silvery bell tone)
. . . to the waiting figure, hunched over a drain, to the little murmur in the center of the gargoyle’s head.
There is a crackling, crunching sound. . . and a little grinding noise.
(SFX Rock surfaces grinding together)
The head. . . wasn’t it. . . looking straight out. . . just a moment ago?