Photo prompt -© Santoshwriter
He had been a helpless witness to the killing of his friends and relatives. One by one they had been reduced to ugly stumps. Each one had been a glorious sample of its kind that had blossomed for decades.
All those who were still alive, anxiously waited for the Sun to rise. Even if some survived the day, they couldn’t avoid the gloom; others would have been felled.
Sun was yet to rise but he could sense the arriving machines and monsters.
He looked around. He did not want to cry but he could not stop his tears.
A post for Friday Fictioneers on a photo prompt.