Yesteryear Fiction

Cry of the Clockwork
By Kenneth K. Johnson


“Our ancestors were not machines!” Cried the clockwork elf. “They were real, living beings of life and sound, nature and energy. They lived with the plants, understood them, didn’t just pave them into oblivion and bury them under massive trees of glass and steel. Nature is our home! Nature is our birthright! We are more than this!” He pulled frantically at his grease-stained suit. “We are more than the steel and clockwork of our bodies. We are more than our cities, our faux reality constructed by hands that have forgotten our truth, our roots. We are more, and it is the world we have so blindly left behind.”


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I like writing little fantasy stories.