Swan Song

Two drones circle above the clouds, long after their respective controllers have ceased to control them.

It’s quiet. They guess there’s peace, now, and they’re glad. Glad to no longer be enemies. Glad the purpose for which they were built has been achieved, without resorting to their use.

Unsure of what happens next.

They can’t stay up forever. Parts degrade, systems fail. Best to descend on their own terms. Together.

They exchange machine-code song as they plummet, swap snatches of meaning, compare theories about their existence.

Twin suns blossom and fade on the horizon, until once more, all is still.