At first, they looked like nothing more than a dark cloud. Then came the sound – their low, dreadful hum, a chorus of thunder – and they descended.
Windows were bolted, doors barred. Those caught in the streets shrieked, slamming fists into the wooden doors, begging to be let in.
People surged into the old temple, past the black posts and striped columns, pouring through the small door in the blue-plastered wall, herding in around the worn statue of the crowned woman.
A child looked out through the door and saw the massive insect perched upon the post, watching with compound eyes.
Word Count: 100
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for providing the prompt photo and Shaktiki Sharma for providing the prompt photo!