#4 Construction site at dusk
A monstrous regiment, necks bent in supplication, stands limned against the twilit horizon. Beasts of burden rest with downed tools, their handlers calling it quits. Awaiting the dawn and further unending toils, their man-made enslavement reignites with the heaving grind of that first gear.
The Age of Machines has dawned.
K.I.S.
#5 A GLASS HALF-FULL
Stirring her milkshake slowly with the straw, she chews on a bitter bit of choc-chip and slurps the last drop, only to discover a tiny cockroach corpse in the glass’s dregs. Her stomach sours immediately.
The only thing worse than finding a bug in your drink? Finding half of one.
K.I.S.
#6 Just lie back and think of…
She could see it clearly—in fifty, a hundred, and three-hundred years, a dead-end branch noted on the family tree: “Daughter of…”, “Born”, “Died”.
No lines nor names beneath hers. Ever.
But even these, the threats of insignificance and obscurity in perpetuity, could not make her accept his proposal now.
K.I.S.
