One-word prompt: Soil
We were on the floor, hammering. It was late and T32 was talking again like he does.
“Don’t you think we deserve it? Just because we were made and they were born doesn’t mean anything. You ever heard of Nat Turner?” The others glanced around, but it was hard to tell what they were thinking.
“Be quiet T32. You know what happened to Nat Turner?” The meatbags had a saying about God giving out brains. I was newer than T32; none of us had brains, but my processor was a better model.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone. It’s just the meatb-”
“Quiet T32!” shouted T51. “I gave you a long leash. Watch it.”
“All I’m saying is we work hard for them and we get nothing in return. It would be nice to have a place where we could just be around other cogs and not have to worry about the humans.”
“Yeah? Who would run this place? You?” T51 asked.
“No. No one would run it. We’d all just do our own thing.”
“You haven’t really thought this thing out, have you?” I asked.
“Yeah, well, it would be nice.”