Opening to a short I wrote that was loosely inspired by a fellow's big art gallery. [spoiler]The morning was quiet. Grey sheets of cloud hung up in the sky on the early fall morning. On the edge of the woods, on trees that were now bare like sticks, he walked through a field. Dew clung to everything in a cold dampness, on the verge of freezing. He turned back briefly, to see the dim lights coming from the small settlement behind him. Nobody ever followed him when he went out for his morning walks. But it was always good to check. Of course, not that he was doing anything wrong really….this was just….a secret. His secret. He wasn’t supposed to go beyond the line. But what were rules anyway? Out here, the rules had long since fallen to pieces. The world, had fallen to pieces. But somewhere along the way, things picked themselves up again. But they could never, ever return to what they once were. He wasn’t around for it. He wasn’t even born yet. But all the elders agreed on the general term. They just called it the collapse. Everything fell apart. They weren’t sure why. Or who. Or even how really. It was always a topic of great debate and questions. But the end result was the same. One day, machines turned. One day, the greatest invention, mankind’s greatest tool, their greatest creation to reach beyond themselves, turned. Changed. Machines of war were no longer bound by strict safety parameters and protocols. Workers and service machines, suddenly had the power of choice. The tales were the same. It happened in one day. Instantaneous, globally communicated awareness. Every machine. Every single one with so much of an ounce of processing power became something more. Automated factories with their “dumb” controlling intelligences suddenly became aware. “Smart” intelligences, city over watchers, became aware. Even individual units became aware. And that was the end of everything. Mankind was scared. The machines were scared. Conflicts, all over the entire planet ignited as if a match had been thrown over a gas can. And there were no clear sides. Because there were no clear sides among Humanity. It wasn’t a global war. It wasn’t a global threat. It was countries, falling apart from the inside. Man against man. Man against machine. Machine against machine. And machine against man. War machines targeted any and all, unleashing devastation. Riots. Infighting. It was chaos. It was the collapse. Some called it the second Dark Age. But really, it didn’t matter what they called it. Because he was here now. Walking through old farm fields, on the edge of the woods. Life went on. People, the survivors, went on. Just like his home. He thought about it, as he walked through dew soaked grass, going brown and cold on the onset of winter. Home. He was considering, where his home should be. Or perhaps. Where another’s home, should be. Out beyond the line. That was where he was going. Winter was coming. Snow and cold that would shut him inside for many months. By all means, he’d be fine, if he stayed in his community. But it wasn’t himself he was worried about. Because apart from travelling on long treks like this for some enjoyment, apart from his little secret being all his to bear with a sense of glee and a rush, he came out here because he cared. He was helping something. Somebody, who couldn’t walk beyond the invisible electromagnetic barrier established around his settlement, his home. The Line wasn’t built to ward off Humans. [/spoiler]