The Weekday One Hundred

I watched it roam the laboratory, its slender titanium arms pulverizing every piece of equipment in its path, its compact feet leaving deep indentations in the cement floor.

I marvel at the destruction.

Mouth agape, I shudder when it grabs a caged rabbit, tears the head off and gargles its blood before spraying it about the room.

I see its head rotate ninety degrees, its glowing green eyes locking with mine. My heart sinks as it takes slow methodical steps in my direction.

I once wondered how I live knowing I’m responsible.

Now I know I won’t have that luxury.