It is not a joy, but it is a wonder how quickly a house can move from being a home, to an empty house to a pile of rubble. It takes weeks, months even to build a house, and only a day to reduce it to a lowly pile of rubble. So much value can be destroyed in a few short hours.
The monster came by night, clanking, startling, roaring, sputtering, smoking. It sat owning the road, waiting for dawn and its moment to strike. I was not there when the deed was done, but when I returned home the next evening, the house was wrecked. The work of a few hours, and the next day they came to cart away the bones.
And then what? Build, use, discard, repeat?
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