(Author’s Note: My most recent work has been seen by a few people, but could use a little more viewage. 2300 words for a work that I decided to let run on it’s own. Go read “Hunters of the Night“, and see what you think. Otherwise, here’s the next Fictioneers for ya.)
by Miles H. Rost
The new roads probably don’t fit my style anymore. Interstates everywhere, they say.
Can’t make your way in the city anymore, the cities are starting to crumble and fall. Egos everywhere.
Then there’s me. I sit along the road, waiting. Once in a while someone stops in, they take a look around or attempt to get inside, but they can’t. They’ll hop in their car and leave.
I’ll probably be around under the foundations crumble, until the weather takes its toll and finally does me in. But until then, I’ll stay standing.
Hidden landmarks are always found by those who choose to search.