The golems knew little about their ruins. They retained
information poorly, and had been at a loss for order ever since the returning
dinosaurs ate their creators. The returning dinosaurs did not eat the golems
because the golems were made out of rocks and hair.
The dinosaurs ignored their temple, since it was made of
still more rocks. It was The Apocalypse of Skyfire that ruined it, with the
meteors and meteorites, and very little fire, and very little visible sky. The
golems tried and failed to rebuild the pillars and ceilings for several hundred
years, before The Apocalypse of Demons, which scorched the entire place and
destroyed two thirds of their otherwise amortal ranks.
It was the devastation that led them to finally being useful
again. Many golems lost limbs to the wicked demons, and went about trying to
rebuild themselves in order to rebuild the ruins. Except golems have never been
any good at self-determination, and one golem missing one arm linked itself to
the remains of twelve of its dismembered kin. This did not spawn a nightmarish
granite caterpillar, but rather a rippling wall of loyal minerals.
This golem-that-was-thirteen crossed a
golem-that-was-twenty, and five golems-that-were-five became a disorderly
link-of-twenty-five. None of them were decent architects, but they were
damnably difficult to get around. Golem after broken golem built upon each
other, linking or simply climbing until they formed a consenting dome over the
ruins.
Then? They stood still. It was the single greatest event in
golem autonomy ever known. And while it seems petty compared to their
biological competitors, it’s kept their ruins in perfect condition for three
apocalypses since. Nothing’s managed to mess up their beloved property any
worse.
Good one. You know you write more flashes a week than many do in a month!
ReplyDeleteThere's a narrative tone here that occurs in a few of your stories that's recognisably Wiswellian.