I see stones trembling, the skies growing dark and bluer, the trees swaying ominously, and the bones of the forgotten rising sequentially. I see a ravine deepening and widening, with fire spewing afar from its origin. I see the mountains groveling and the trees attempting to jump from their roots as they realize the prophecy was misinterpreted; it was the lord’s army that would come, but the horned one, with his armies of pariahs and filth. The wolves retreat to the caves, along with the bears; their stupidity understood, as well as their despair, therefore, I will not harbor any judgments. The sky turns to crimson, for the blue sky had absconded. Now engulfed by fury and vile, the world has finally fallen and appears no avail shall come from the nearest hill or the highest peak of the skies. The last chronicle of Earth lay in my palm; I, a wanderer of this world, an outcast of the region far above my footprint. I shall witness my descent, however, before I do such a thing, I will laugh at those who deemed themselves sanctimonious and selective; for they too are about to descend into the palm of flame and rock. Ironically, the rich and the poor shall be divided or united, either switched or placed in an perennial spectacle of entertainment for the high king of the third stage. Whether I shall be among those who guffawed and scorned me is uncertain, nevertheless I will still lay down against this stone with a smile and a content conscious, for their genocide of my cells and proteins was vain. If I do see such “admirable” malformed dust and bacteria, I will hug them with my “filth” and “secular hygiene” and thereby, demolishing their once great structure of faith. I will be ablaze, however I will be scintillating and manifest; I will be a beacon to all the erstwhile facades forever, until Father Time’s pointed finger stops.

To my sight, I see nothing but vermillion sand or whatever this bane is. Like the Egyptians, I too have been sent to the underworld with what I descended with. However, their caskets were of art and minerals; they bore jewels and medicines, whereas my tomb is merely wood and cloth. I thought because I could float above hades and below Athens, I could be immortal and pre-empt the epitaph and contrite apostles and disciples. Alas, I was wrong, terribly wrong, and now, I will forever reside in limbo, destined to spend my days in lament and chagrined. At least there is no searing and stifling sun peeling my flesh inchmeal. I do not know if these gloomy clouds are an omen of forthcoming torment or an innate and inherent champion of the one who grasps sovereignty over this lacuna, this “no man’s land.” I am yet to see another prisoner or an untrammeled man, or any entity whatsoever, this ground and clouds and whatever chemicals, molecules, microscopic pests, and atoms comprise them, notwithstanding. Is this my personal perdition or purgatory, will I ever be privy to such divine knowledge, I do not know. Will I see all that have fallen throughout time: the Tower of Babel, Sodom and Gomorrah, Carthage, the Assyrian Elephants, the Pharaohs, the fabled Trojans, King David and Solomon, the Mammuthus primigenius, or hope and morals. I soon shall abandon thyself: thy morals, hope, and overall character. Daft, I will become, addled and idle upon the ship, my terminal home. Long have I been devising an escape from this dungeon of nature and mind, but I am yet to find the key which could open the door, the portal of salvation. My semblance has become like an anemic, pale and frail. Let me dwell upon this ship eternally, for perhaps I deserve everlasting damnation; perhaps I ate the apple from the forbidden garden, perhaps I yielded fire to the wrong species, or perhaps I did not sacrifice enough to the sky and beyond. I have realized my fate and accept this great wind and storm which shall haunt me until I become no longer an amusing toy or an unscrupulous and unworthy servant. I bury myself in despair and hope my once exuberant self shall not be resurrected until the flowers bloom and the eagles fly overhead. The last testament and will lie beside me as a vestige and final account; if anyone should discover my corpse or dormant brain, the words which were written in thy blood will forgo all of thy secrets and my bones or jaundiced and wrinkly skin will reveal my languishing attempts to escape the labyrinth.

Snow falls and covers all: the ground, trees, and critters of the forest and deserts. The bulwark which is my house: made of wood, stone, and travail. What stops ice and water from plundering my abode is ironically what it has submerged; a sort of yin-yang. It cannot breach but it can blow and breathe, and what it breathes plummets body temperature, along with assurance. My fire is enough, but not enough anon. It is in decline, as was the warmth long ago. For much time I dwelled in sunlight and vitamin D, however, I witnessed the calamity of bitterness, which is time and global interactions of all creatures, which consequents atrophy of all continents. What constitutes life also forgoes it. Once, in time, towers stood of wood and green leaves which sprouted oxygen and with that, life. Every day it grows in length and width. My life, I will surrender soon; for the ground is no longer dirt, but this white substance which benumbs the feet and hands. I cannot endure this torment of watching death’s shadow continue to rise until I am encompassed by a scythe and a macabre smile. Then, suddenly, it will swing, and my bloodline will be lost into the ground, along with my domicile. Too weak am I challenge nature and fate, the wheel of time and nature of the Earth and all things which walk atop of it: picking fruit and vegetables, slaughtering and enslaving, and exacting and depleting. I now walk the green mile, and soon, I will walk the line of the divine in firmament.

Alas, the waves are tall and formidable, nevertheless, I will mount thee and ride thee to all continents and whatever end. From the prism of the beach, I see the threshold of the beach and the water essaying a siege of the beach like the Trojans and myrmidons. I see the ruins of soldiers in the form of shells and the whips and ropes in the form of seaweed. Like Goliath, I step forward into the water with my chariot and sink beneath the murky and obfuscated water. Hasty in my mind and body, but outside am sluggish and struggling. A great wave rises and with that wave travels horses, and with those horses come a master in black. Now, our simulacrums have changed, now I was David, and there rode toward me Goliath, an aberration of a corrupt but once-blooming and bright rose. Regardless, I strode toward him with my board until I reach his nadir, and then, I climbed, but now, he was colossal, like the titan Cronus. His flesh peeled and no point existed where I could grab and hold, and therefore, I began to descend and hounding me came to the avalanche of enraged water. My chariot I laid prone atop of, and gradually, I rose, chary as it were. With his spit being hurled at me continuously, I had to withstand and bear the discomfort of his wrath, until I scaled Yasur, and at last, I tamed the serpopard; I conquered and went out conquering, above the megalodons and mosasaurs. The Helios as my only witness and audience to my expeditions and expropriations. Away I go, with a primordial-enigmatic resource, which never exhausts; a star in the universe, never to burn out and extinguish.

It was the worst kind of day to be lost and alone on a mountain. For I was alone staring at the sky as it was in atrophy. The war of the sky and the treaties and cease-fires that are signed every day above our heads conflate and annex, and thus the sky has turned orange anew, with a great inferno at the center. I sit atop of grass, thin but many. Staring beyond my sight I did and with my legs sprawled across the grass, I sat in meditation. Though I was alone, I was not, for I had armies of bravery, compassion, and magnanimity, all of which followed me like specters, awaiting a summons. Soon, I will have to barter blood for food with the beasts of this land, those who were natives, not those who were immigrants and lost, as I was. Zeus, atop the clouds with his electricity and petulance, came closer as I watched. Anon, the sun will disappear beneath the Earth and all will turn into darkness. In arrant darkness, before time and in the mind of God before had one. Without notice, the sun rose, but this was not the sun I knew, it was its opposite, for it was desolate and extinguished, forever bound to the cold and unable to be kindled anew. Drab and somber as it was, it still was able to decrypt the obfuscated trees and creatures who were tall and small, rising and falling, consuming and sparing, and thus, sight returned. In the other world of chess and checkers, clocks and endless skies, and voices and laughs, I, addled and within the boundaries of the trees and height which would cause death if escaped, obviously delineated, I was still stagnant, in a trance, at peace and war, wanting to remain still and unhampered, however, the descendants of ancient beasts drew near, and I wanted life, to remain afloat, and not sink into the sea of the forgotten if that is to be realized then I must fight, but with what I wonder, perhaps my tattered flesh, my original cloth, and coverage or my fingernails, long as an elephant’s trunk and sharp as a cobra’s dagger of the mouth. At last, the advent of fate came in reflection; for I saw myself: the knight vs the drake, the sun vs the moon, ice and flame, time and faith, Yahweh and the Leviathan, and the Archangel Michael vs the dragon of seven heads, ten horns, and seven diadems.

Let thy love sprinkle and spread in all directions in the form of a white light. Let thy warmth be greater than the sun, as well as the white ice that troubles the loveless on the streets. If I should ever sadden thee, with all thine heart, full of fire and warmth, kindle thy heart of ice anew, as thou once did long ago, when I was neither above nor below a knave, lost and doomed. Let our love be chiseled into a diamond; let thine heart of pure fire and spunk encompass thy heart of carbon. Let us walk to death together, forever inseparable and indissoluble. Let our hands entwine as we succumb to time. Let us delay decay with untenable love and finally, be forever joined in heaven or hell.

Fire, the city is ablaze and screams of all ages are heard and they are endless. Buildings becoming ruins and vestiges are becoming rife within the kingdom. As it all crumbles and unfolds, the king in his purple and white robe is leaning forward with wrinkles and a grey complexion as he and his kingdom is helpless. His jewels and necklaces were futile, for they fell onto the stone pathway, for they also sensed enslavement and despair was forthcoming. All had abandoned him it seemed, and it was true, for his men had surrendered, but not before valiantly vying for a foothold. The swords swung for hours, along with blood, going in all directions as it escaped its cage of biology. Metal crafted into armor was now sparse and disfigured, and all shall be wasted as the centerpiece of a triumph, if the king doesn’t deprive his heart of life. Chants and drums, cacophonies of language of tongue, noises of fire devouring structures, like an untrammeled hyena feasting upon a gazelle, which just only hours before, rose and took sight upon the world around it; I’m sure his world was much like this world, a battlefield, soon to be barren and destitute. Slaves being herded like cattle, jewels and wine being drunk and work in mockery, spit and blood being casted upon our streets in disdain, and light from all torches and hope were soon doused with the words and saliva of the barbarous invaders. “To whatever end” Was once said when this war was waged, however, I am confident the king expected not destruction and dissolution. I stand there in dismay, as I watch my father, the king of kings as he was once dubbed, succumb to despair and the horseman that rode it in his mind, with his black horse and reigns of bones and steel, forever agonizing and inescapable. It was incumbent that I succeed my father if death struck him, but how was I to succeed him if I were without an empire? I absconded to rally survivors, and through ash and fire I went on like a schizophrenic rallying mendicants, aristocrats, though many of them had already poisoned themselves, “peasants”, evangelists, house servants, and other inhabitants. The harbor had yet to be besieged and proselytized, therefore, embarked traveling to it, but not before retrieving my apostate of a father, though he was hated, he was also loved, the tragedy and Yin Yang of kingship. The endless staircase as it seemed, luxurious and wasteful as my father preferred all to be, I treaded upon with haste. Behold, the threshold, before me lay the doorframe and before it, the king’s domicile, and as it was only fitting, it would forever be his tomb, as he was dormant, awaiting trial and resurrection by the Holy Spirit. Without conflict at last, I led the exodus to the harbor, where angels stood in wood and cloth form. As we departed, a final look and closing of the 7th chapter of the old, raggedy and tattered book that is my life, ends with glum but acceptance. The fire grows like the leviathan rising from the water, and I, laughing at it because I have escaped, though I am sure we will one day have our duel.