Apologies for the grammar - having re-read it, even in my tired state I can see what a pig's ear I've made of the grammar. Just put the commas, full stops and semi-colons in where they belong... :-)
Everything speaks to me. Not in a scary 'voices in my head' way, but in a pleasant background burble of the souls of the objects. Of machines, of houses, each telling the secrets of their past.
Each crack, mark, streak, or bubbling particle of rust giving more depth to that story. Sometimes they cry, the pain of decades of neglect making me feel for them; and sometimes they sing, the great lives they've seen; but sometimes they just sit quiet.
Contemplating an end, often ignominious and alone as rust destroys them, nature reclaims them or neglect leaves them to be forgotten...
The Speed of AttackjordaxJuly 11 2007, 00:27:50 UTC
The first machine, when the colonists found it, was a mystery. Despite a layer of rust, no-one recalled its arrival. No-one could lift it, so firmly was it bedded into the ground. But more, no-one could sever the pipes that reached from the machine and wove into the building. Each cut had only temporary effect; the next morning the pipes were renewed, as if grown back overnight
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Each crack, mark, streak, or bubbling particle of rust giving more depth to that story. Sometimes they cry, the pain of decades of neglect making me feel for them; and sometimes they sing, the great lives they've seen; but sometimes they just sit quiet.
Contemplating an end, often ignominious and alone as rust destroys them, nature reclaims them or neglect leaves them to be forgotten...
102 Words.
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Yeah, that was the plan :-)
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