Resistance is Futile
Micro-fiction inspired by images
Nov 4 · 1 min read

I waited, alone, for Mother’s triumphant return. Beyond doubt, she would repel the invaders.
As air shimmered purple, I rose from my grass seat, excited. My brothers burst through the portal at a gallop — without mother.
“Run“,” the eldest neighed, eyes bulging with fear. “Mother is dead. The humans come.”

