Bones

He stacked the bones until the pile started falling over, then he’d start a new pile. He never ran out of bones, dug from the rubble. As he picked through the stacks of broken wood and bricks, twisted metal, shards of glass, he had to be careful not to cut himself, but his hands were rough from the work, and he wore heavy pants, long-sleeved shirts, and his sturdy work boots for protection. He’d found the remains of the city by following the birds, crows mostly, scavengers all of them. At one time, there must have been thousands, tens of thousands, and rats. He hated rats. Sometimes, if he came upon a rat, and he had a femur or other large bone, he’d give chase, attempting to bash the animal over the head. There were plenty of large bones to use, but mostly, he’d find fragments, pieces of all that was left of a bustling city, and at the center, like all the other cities he’d found, an empty crater, the fingerprint left behind by the aliens when they’d pulverized our civilization back to pre-industrial days.

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