Buried by caustic red dust, recent storms had revealed the statue. The drones dug quickly; carapaces resistant to the radiation for hours at most.
It soon stood bare; grotesque; alien. Of its paltry four limbs one was cast out, pointing. My eyestalk swivelled in the direction.
Just dust. Shifting, deadly, dust.
<A monument?>I clicked my brood-sister, <To what?>
<Humph,> she trilled. <All monuments are shrines to the same thing. Death. Conquest. Murder.> Her eyes rolled behind their nictitating membranes cynically. <One civilisation’s monument is another’s headstone.>
Standing thorax deep in radioactive dust of a dead world, argument seemed futile.
Word count: 100
Feeling a bit scifi recently on the Friday Fictioneers; and a bit apocalyptic! I at least went smaller scale this week, last week I destroyed the universe; this week only humanity and the Earth. Guess I’m getting soft.
This one has actually been knocking around in my head for a while; or at least the idea of non-humans chatting while standing in the ruins of humanity. I hope you find it interesting.
Let me know what you think!
The other 100 word stories can be found by clicking here.