I despised the humans that worked on this once majestic farm. They leaned against me with blatant disrespect smoking their infernal death sticks. New fangled contraptions carry out the hard work.
Their gazes remained transfixed by strange box things they held in their hands while permanent frowns furrowed prematurely lined faces. Did they know they wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t worked so tirelessly farming for their peasant ancestors? What thanks do I get? Left outside in all weathers to rust and be ridiculed by passers by.
I deserve some dignity in my retirement. I have suffered the shame of local brats climbing over me, farmhands stubbing cigarettes out on me and animals relieving themselves against me. I may not be powered by their modern day witchcraft but I command respect.
I need to take action, to force them to move me out of the elements, to a place I can enjoy a well deserved retirement.
Here comes another, resting against me as he drinks his tea. I tug his shirtsleeve with my stiff mechanism, gently at first, then harder and harder. His fingers make a satisfying crack as they enter my metal jaws. He screams in pain as his blood drips, warming my cool carcass.
Written for Sunday Photo Prompt. A 200 word story inspired by the above image.