The old fridge lies on its side in the primordial jungle. It stinks of rotting meat and spoiled milk. Sauropods pass by, calls echoing shrill amongst endless trees.
The doors open. Slowly. Hesitantly. A head pops out: battered, bruised, with wild hair.
He laughs at the sight of trees dead eighty million years. He’s done it.
The air tastes fresher here at the warm dawn of the world.
It is a shame, he thinks as he clambers from the old refrigerator, that the nuclear blast must have killed the others.
But he’s sure they’d agree the sacrifice was worth it.
Word Count: 100
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and providing the prompt photo!