Year 21XX

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65 years on this earth. 45 years in this body. 40 years living with this past.

He was a kid when they wrapped him up shiny in steel and pistons but the war dulled that gleam quickly. There wasn't much sun under that bomb-tossed sky. Beneath the endless dust, the walker kept walking. The hard body held. And, eventually, once there was enough blood spilled to clog the pipe, the third war to end all wars came to an end.

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But there was still need for hard bodies. The hands that took apart the world set themselves to putting it back together. For the first time, he was free to build something and with that first taste, he committed his life to it.

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40 years, he gave. And then there was nothing left. It was a hot day when his arms gave out inside that hard body. In the cockpit, he was sweating. His head felt light but his chest clenched tight. His blood was pounding, screaming at his limbs to let the steel beam go.

He held the girder high while his forearms trembled beneath it. He wobbled as he held the handles down but the handles pushed back. His arms weren't wobbling anymore. The resistance was over. The handles slid back down their tracks, bending his arms behind him. His grip held as the girder fell and it dragged him behind it. His hard body threw him into the ground.

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He could work no longer.

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A digital narrative experience by:

Kirk Musngi -@kirkmusngi