#picturefiction #flashfiction

The drums echoed throughout the corridors. The low ceilings and stone walls pulsed with the beat, the heart beat of the drums calling them to war.
Man, woman and child, they prepared. Uniforms were hastily donned and protective gear was pulled into place and checked – then checked again by the person nearest.
“Forward to victory,” shouted their leader as he marched down the central corridor.
The others poured from their stone rooms to fall in behind the leader.
He was resplendent in his military uniform and cap. Anyone looking at him instantly knew that this man was in charge. The others fell in behind. Their short pants and blue shirts with the wide white collars made them look like a scout troop going on a hike, but they were soldiers marching to war.
Through the long stone corridor the growing ranks marched. Drums beat, metal clanked and banners ruffled. Up the slope they trudged until they burst from their subterranean world into the open air.
“To war,” the leader shouted and pulled his breathing mask over his face.
The legions of followers donned their masks. The air above the surface would soon lay them low as it was missing vital components of their lower world. Once they had conquered the surface dwellers the leader promised they would start the factories and fill the air with the soot and particles that made up their air.
Today was the beginning of the end for the surface dwellers.
With a muffled cheer the legions of mole people charged forth.