Nothing Left

There’s not much remaining in terms of foliage. Just mud and a few twists of branches that fell from the old growth.

Timothy reclines back on the well worn seat. All he had to do now was smooth out some of the remaining inclines. He wonders what’s going to be built here. Maybe a shopping mall or medical complex. Not his problem really. He doesn’t get paid to think, only destroy.

Steam leaks from the sludgy ground.

He wipes at his sweaty brow with the back of a greasy hand and hopes he will get a down rotation next instead of another forest clearing assignment.

He could use a vacation. Go somewhere other then here.

Everyplace is the same though, hot asphalt parking lots and overly air-conditioned buildings.

He shakes off an approaching fugue of depression and flips the ignition switch. The deep rumbling vibration returns. He pushes the control lever forward and the big machine lumbers on, tearing at the ground, spewing up mud and ending life in its wake, forever.


Author: Bryan Aiello

I call NYC home and wish the subway went everywhere and Times Square didn't suck. I saw John Turturro once. Maybe it was him. He was wearing a yellow shirt and smiled at me like he knew I knew. I am an Army vet who writes. I like characters who want more then they deserve. I like genre fiction. I love space. I love paladins. One day I might write a paladin in space story. Just you wait. The university of South Florida spit me out with a degree in creative writing and I find myself questioning the sanity of going to a school that advertises a fake beach on its brochure ever since. I intuit grammar. I Got married in 2012 We had twins in 2015. I do a lot of cooking and dog walking and ranting about the unfairness of sentience. You can follow me on Twitter: @bryaiello Wattpad: My Subreddit: My Reddit profile: Like my work? Become a patron at:

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