Small stone – Digging

Above the fence line, and artificial sight-screen, metallic elbows and arms bob with indefatigable resolution. Swinging back and forth, the arms drop teeth clad buckets and lift them nonchalantly into the air like a ballet to the monotonous suite of a pneumatic drill. I peer at their inhuman movement and Wells speaks to me from a century past; he talks of wars and worlds, and using different bodies to suit a need. Is it us who are doomed when we appear so invincible?


About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on
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