"Human." The word was coughed out from the failing strength of the once-powerful reptilian.
These two had shared their long years of the graveyard posting on this howling desert. The reptilian had long fantasized about the true nature of the Earthling. If only he might have hoped for a shape-shifter, a secret vampire, or even one of these wolf things from Earth.
Now he sadly watched all these hopes fade faraway as watched his partner leave with the last of the good water, of the energy cells, of everything.
"Oh yes, only human!" he shouted and reached for the remote detonator.
Art is for the sake of art and for a start,
though this might not sound like art
do have a heart. I'm not so dumb,
and just got off at the wrong part
of the space-time continuum.
Colin escaped from the day job in Scotland and now writes very short fiction and poetry in Sarawak on the lovely green island of Borneo and faraway in Yunnan in southwest China.