Ficlets

They heavy metalic weapons pinched Meric’s cold skin beneath his thick concealing overcoat as he strode briskly down the Side walk of 78th street in New York IV. He felt safe. Something about the loud hum of the air cleaners hovering in the sky made him feel unheard. He turned the corner. The usual gigantic metal sphere prowled down the street, its thick metal legs barely missing the crafts that were waiting in traffic.

A low voice shouted out from a window a few stories above Meric.

“You are under arrest for treason against the Mantrian society and hereby-” there was a sound of running feet that was quickly silenced by a gunshot. ”- sentenced to death”

Startled, Meric began to run towards his destination, a laundromat outlined in red neon lights. His quickend pace caught the mechanical eye of the prowling sphere, and it made its way towards Meric.

Meric dived into the empty laundromat and into the 2nd dryer on the right, shutting the circular door behind him.

“In Mezin we trust,” He whispered.