The Broken Machine

There was a sputter, a shake, and then a smell.
Not a welcoming, please-stay smell.
No. It was toxic.
It wasn't fear. No contagion here.
It was a warning sign.
This was the sign before the hurricane.
Think: Something wicked this way comes.
But less melodramatic. Paranoia, but less worry. More of a mystery and less of a confusion.
A ticking time bomb that would kill those involved and potentially harm those carefree passerby.
It was the big boom before the war. It was everything they warned you about wrapped in a lovely metallic red, passed down through generations.
This normalized chaos will drive you insane and pollute the airways.
Breathe it in and watch it enfold.