By Ada Redmond
They took the heart out of the world and encased it in metal. Rows of silent statues turning all about. Screws and wires and plating dancing under dimmed neon.
You can’t hear anything above the floor, but he pretends that they yawn and mumble as they stretch. That they wake up and look around and wonder where they are.
Eyes glow a brief bright blue and then they’re put away. Packed into tubes and carried up and out to be sent on their impossible missions.
They’re scouts and slaves and saviors. He thinks they’ll be the last of us.