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Surrealistic sounds of apocalypse battled the acoustic landscape of the setting. An inverted dome beneath us carried in it echoes; bait for bats. And we, only human, could not begin to explain why swarms of vermin spiraling in would not return.
It was imperative to first gather all basic necessities. Questions over the inexplicable are common distractions for sentient beings. Distraction is also commonplace in scenarios where destruction is imminent and people are responsible.
No apocalypse is complete without prerequisite tension. To visually describe sky shearing like a sheet of azure rubber would be to euthenize climax with a euphemism for a pathetic simile.
Similarly, the mind-bending events which result in the present will go undescript, and time will be the ultimate enemy of memory. Before I or any of my comrades forget the time when age and influence were numerically equated, these thoughts must be manifested so that the dignity of our people is preserved in the eyes of unbiased observers.
The attoscopic machinery of time and space whirs in place as though it never moved. Through these scopes called eyes I see everything that matters interact. I remain intact amidst the heat while my comrades, in vain, attempt to speak, but instantly incinerate. I cannot help but laugh, as always.
That is how we got here to begin with.
A little luck could not have been called for any less. The first fires seen seemed to have descended from the sky, with lightning and thunder. The ultimate regret of man is to have witnessed a burning branch and not have felt remorse.
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For fear of reptiles, we sought solid ground amidst signs that we should return, but streams and time are stubborn things.
If by chance our voices echo in the swampy marsh and by night we do not find our way, know the silence of centuries unfolds inside this open field.
If by chance we find a beam of light beyond the trees and frogs, seeking the warmth of machines, and our intuitions lead us to digression...
if by day we do not find our way, know the silence of centuries echoes inside
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People will choose the flaws they prefer. For better or worse there's nothing to think (about). As long as you and I exist, the things we choose will never change.
Moments whence a glance is too quick, or a smile too short: For better or worse, they happen to be, like all the things we touch and see...
places where a word means three, and polysyllabic cacophony reigns the ideas of Earth; we explain: for better or worse, the things we love will remain.
Memories lost to new experience, recovered by language and its impertinence; they cannot be remembered as learned, and cannot be forgotten as first known...
for if our choices change in style and our voices grow with boldness, a thought will earn the gentle caresses of the air between our lips and ears.
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