Arlock writes (personal). An outlet for Glossolalia

Grey Goo


They crawl, they move. Too small to see, yet their movement can be felt. This is how the world ends, not with a bang but with a sigh as tree and building alike slide into dust. Despite the tech, uncaring of awareness, beneath the surface, all is carbon. It took a blinking cursor, an execution command, and now all that carbon can be re-purposed.

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