PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook
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Ex Machina (97 words)
Ask anyone: I am not given to fancy. Yet there’s a quality about this room that terrifies me so much that I avoid it.
In nightmares I hear the rusty grinding of metal on metal, piercing, agonizing cries.
Hugh laughs, pats my shoulder. “Such an imagination. No people were harmed with this equipment.”
During the night, the wind accelerates, howls, shakes the roof shingles, keeps me awake. Next to me Hugh cries out and jolts up in bed. His eyes wildly glance around the room before landing on me.
“Tomorrow we find a new home,” he says.