In some ways the incessant, constant drone was worse than the castrophany outside. Straining, I could hear the untamed, dominating wind and rattle of oversized drops on the roof. The factory was large and alive with it’s own symphony but the rage of the storm would not be silenced.
From my vantage near the Grid conduit, I could see the machines as they moved, reached, pushed, burned and then drew back to repeat. A rapid clacking, a tick like dice of bone, they forced raw materials into new gear, the latest model.
I shifted slightly and felt the air wheeze as it expelled from my respirator slowly, like an old man sitting down in bed, feeling stuck somewhere in a darker age. As my arm charged a warm fuzz moved through my shoulder. Drawing smoke into my lungs I sunk into the feeling.
Something pierced the reverie, a shard of ice plunging deep woke me and I looked to the door I had entered through. Had it been….. the second wail came clear against the storm. That definitely come from outside. I ripped my lead from the jack and started for the exit, I couldn’t afford to be caught inside.
The machines went on with their work as they always do.
Heads in the sand, refusing to see.(Right-click -> Save link as…)