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This was my entry into a flash fiction contest with the writing prompt “a misunderstanding” and the following photo:

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After all this time traversing the ground, ignoring our presence, they thought they owned their footsteps.

But their footsteps belonged to us. Pitiful humans.

Ozias, Oberon, and Orson had become our modern-day forebears. The ones carrying a lineage that stretched back to the intricate hieroglyphics on the caves.

We’d been influencing events from the pay-off of Judas to the pristine bullet through JFK’s head.

Our mission was to keep the balance. Because the humans misunderstood the influence they wielded. That was where we came in to remind them where they stood; on our shoulders.

The world had been teetering for some time with geopolitical spats. Some even prophesized the coming of World War III.

It was time to tip the balance of influence. To make a point. To create a misunderstanding. Because that’s all history was.

One bullet to the brain of the Archduke led to global war. History repeats itself. Ozias had the bullet inscribed, “B.N” for Israel’s PM.

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