Written as an exercise for Mark Welker’s site:
The last building standing looked up. The sky, once his enemy, no longer rained upon him, no longer sent all manner of birds to shit on him or nest in him, no longer faded him with its glaring eye.
The last building standing looked down. There were no more steel animals in the street clambering over its legs, farting noxious gas over it, leaving tracks all over it, revving and beeping around it like parasites.
The last building standing realised that because there were no steel animals there would most likely be none of the little bags of pus which spilled from the beasts, worming their way into the building’s body, its bloodstream. He looked within and confirmed that this was the case. There was no evidence of the creatures’ food, of their defecation, of their noise.
All that the building could see was their skins; bright and multi-coloured, lazily discarded, and the faint aroma of charred flesh.
The last building standing wondered what one should do when it is the last building standing. The tethering lines that gave him strength and ears and a voice had been cut off: literally in some cases, figuratively in others. What good were ears if no one was speaking to you? What good a mouth if no one spoke your language?
The last building standing just
stood there as the angry clouds bloomed fiery petals over the sky
and he was happy