“Bernie, a snack,” he commanded the robot.
“Yes, Master,” Bernie droned. He opened the back door and let off a torpedo from the side of his hovercraft. A scream and a disconnected arm appeared.
Bernie picked up the arm and then hovered back into the living room.
“Thank you, Bernie.”
Master’s flesh oozed as he reached for the arm. Dead meat hung off of his face as he chomped and slurped. One day humans would become extinct – at the rate they were getting killed – then there would be a food shortage. Oh well.
== 95 words ==
Thank you, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple, for hosting Friday Fictioneers where we’re challenged to write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words or less. Everyone is welcome to participate in Friday Fictioneers by writing your story and connecting it with the blue froggy button below.