“It’s a satellite, brought back from the earth’s orbit, recovered from the Pacific Ocean, and brought here.”
Matt stood tall, anchored his hands awkwardly to his waist and stared intently into Cassiopeia’s deep blue eyes.
She tapped her right foot slowly and rhythmically, holding Matt’s gaze intently.
“It’s a 21st century artist’s artefact salvaged from landfill in Cornwall, restored and erected in memoriam of human space exploration.”
The extremities of her rusting metal lips curled upwards, the fake skin had disappeared, into a strange semblance of a wry grin.
Matt’s left arm, disconnected from the shoulder and dropped noisily onto the concrete. The right arm slipped dangerously, hanging now by multicoloured cables.
Cassiopeia’s robotic smile froze as her depleted fuel cells ceased to give further power.
As if on cue, Matt, now immobile, just stuttered “It’s, it’s, it’s, it’s ittt …,” and then fell silent.
The argument that had continued for over four hundred years was now closed.
There had been no spectators. Only the rotting bodies of those that had failed to secure passage from this sad and decaying planet.
It had begun in 2034 with the lunar eclipse and the Red Blood Moon. (196 words)
This is my entry to this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge where around 200 words are required with a photo prompt (above).
The feature photo is mine. It was taken during the lunar eclipse of the 25th of September 2015 around 2 am.