Prompt twenty



She screams

So loudly

You think they would stop

But they are machines

Machines filled with men

The smoke billows from mouths and pipes

As they inch across

She screams

Attempting to get closer

As the smoke chokes

Her frail bird frame

And then it is done

No amount of screaming

No amount of


Her nest

Lay on the ground

Her babies

Her sweet little chicks


Not even an afterthought

Coffee break

The men have left

But still

She screams

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