Man's Best Friend
The street was dead. The only being to roam the pavement was RAF, and he didn't have a pulse. He used to love taking strolls before the hailstorm of bombs dried up the seas of people going about their lives. He was built only two years before it happened, but his favorite pastime during that juncture was sitting in parks and watching people hold hands, play, and read on the grass. He used to make up stories about their lives and tried putting himself in their shoes. He didn't need shoes on account of his metallic feet, but he wore them, nonetheless. All he ever wanted was to be human like the city's former inhabitants, and now he was what was left. It was bittersweet knowing he was a remnant of humanity, proof people once existed.