 |
| Add caption |
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
Succint, poignant and powerful.
ReplyDelete