An insect and a robot walked the earth, arm in arm. In the changing skies, new algorithms of thought sent them rain or sun as seemed appropriate. They managed to enjoy both. All around them, they found old buildings, overgrown with flowers, green patterns on cracked grey surfaces.

Neither the insect nor the robot knew of the absurd, angry people that had once lived in the fallen cities. It was enough that they had left behind all of this for them to explore. Their creators were just another step on the journey, a footprint now lost in weeds.

Damian Mark Whittle