Creatures Of Habit

This rock.

This tiny blue marble floating in the darkness.

The birth, and resting place of vicious, simple creatures.

Creatures of habit. 

At the hands of these sentient machines, blue will fade to Black.

Autonomous little sheep, dance like marionettes dangling under the Shepard.

Powerful like God’s, they spit in the face of the darkness.

And just like a man that throws dust into the wind

No one will be blinded but themselves.

That’s okay.

It’s just one rock.

Just one tiny blue marble…

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