#ThursThreads, week 63

The room had long since been emptied of life, although the cleansing had not been orderly. The chairs in back had been knocked down during the frenzy, and the ones in the front would never be usable again, not covered in blood and partially chewed.

Not that the denizens of Earth were going to use the chairs, anyway.

Not the new denizens of Earth, I mean. The seating surfaces for the polytentacled don’t have four legs, a seat, and a back.

The only light in the room was a blue-green trapezoid, splayed carelessly in the upper right corner of the room. Somehow, the bulb in the projector hadn’t shattered during the feeding.

If you turned your head the right way, you could still read the last slide. The woman who’d written it had been an executive in the shipping industry, and the room had been the site of the latest, and last, national meeting of people like her, people who made a living moving other people’s things from point A to point B. She was expecting something along the lines of “How do you interface your new billing method with your accounting system?”

She got “Are you crunchy?”

As it turned out, she was.

The bulb was growing older, and soon would burn out, its departure no less sudden, or final, than that of the crunchy shipping executive.

But before it went, anyone who found this room, and turned just the right way, could read humanity’s farewell message.

“Any questions?”

250 words


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