This week's 100-word Friday Flash Fiction
Photo credit belongs to Douglas McIlroy
(Actually, I wrote two this week, and both are one hundred words ... I guess I liked the prompt)
In The Lab
He straightened his tie, brushing stray wisps of fluff from his lab coat. He hated the fact he always had to tinker with the models at the last minute to make them work correctly. Damn! Someday, Federation funding would be adequate so he could do things right, instead of improvising. But there was no more time for whining. They were here, silently filing into the Observation Quarters. He cleared his throat against the deafening silence. "Gentlemen. We believe this is how tectonics work on this Blue Planet." He pressed the small button on his console, and gears began to grind.
Perhaps they should have heeded the omen on the desolate mountain pass before descending into the land of whiteskins. Altan shivered at the quiet. It was wrong. Their ponies shied at a rattling wind as they rode through fields grown wild from neglect. Shriveled fruit hung from branches. No tracks or prints marked the unkempt road. They crossed an empty bridge, coming upon clusters of wooden huts. No fires. No lights. The dark land was empty. Then, the crumbling ruins of a village. Human bones littered the ground near the largest stone building.
They must have come here to die.