I like toast and sci-fi.
A slice of chocolate cake stands upright in the corner, unaware that it was recently on the countertop. There is a salad fork on the ground next to it. Its chocolate sprinkles are in disarray, a chaotic trail of them leading from the counter to the corner. A whisk is also nearby, its wires specked with blood like the bones of a metal bird. The slice of cake has no opinion on the whisk, be its colors silver, brown, or red.
For eighty seven years she has sat here, her mechanical eyes active, but expressionless. She watches the room, watching the dust accumulate, greeting the patrons in a voice that is not her own. She cannot feel their guilt or excitement or drunken obliviousness, but she can see it, the chemical reality of our species betraying us to her.
The Long Dark
He could not see the horizon. He could only see the burning red sky as it laid waste to the evening hours. The top of the giant sun was just visible as it sunk below the western megablock. The black buildings blazed red with fury, like giant fingers grasping at the empty sky.