Friday 25 January 2013

Perspective

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Perspective



Four hundred and seventeen years, condemned to this eyrie; shunned, shamed and static. I see them.

Power

They slaughtered thousands. In the battle for the city, spears, oil and arrows cut them down like corn before a scythe.

Progress

They poisoned hundreds. Industrial filth,  gasping children, lungs filled with tar and soot.

Prosperity

Now, streets not safe to walk, feral gangs prey on those forced to venture out.

People

And they call me ugly.



75 words

@nickjohns999

This story was written for the SVW Flash! Friday challenge

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