Dust trickled down the unsteady brickwork, landing like dry raindrops on the shattered sidewalk. Shards of glass sparkled under empty window frames. Right across the third floor, three deep gashes cut through brick and wood.
“Claws,” the foreman muttered. “Play havoc on the structure.”
Charlie tucked a blond lock under his hardhat.
“I don’t suppose,” he said, “you ever find any… souvenirs?”
“Souvenirs?” The foreman rolled his eyes. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? Probably have all the posters on your wall and everything.”
Charlie shifted. “Well…”
“First time these things showed up,” the foreman said, “they were impressive. Terrifying, but impressive. And when the other lot started, I was cheering them on like everyone else.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “But the property damage, road closures…”
“Good for business, though,” Charlie replied.
The foreman grinned. “That it is.”
Sirens rang out and he sighed.
“Get to a shelter,” he told Charlie. “We don’t want to be in the open when they come.”
As they walked away, Charlie glanced back. Black against the horizon, he saw the rearing shape of the dragon, wings spread, and the gleaming blade of the battle suit rising up to meet it.
Word Count: 198
This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Thanks to J Hardy Carrol for the prompt photo!