søndag den 12. marts 2017

It's another the end of life as we know it. Panorama from above, you see the city's many skyskrapers still lighted up by people working hard, but there are fewer of them. They are the lucky, the ones with connections who manage to make a profit on the many deaths of their neighbours. Most of the offices are empty, windows smashed in by wind or broken from inside by attempts to escape. Most of them are dark.

The cult of the angels is led by my father who has now become a holy man. He can save twice as many people from above as any effort on the ground. The downside to the wings is a strong desire for human meat, but he denies himself and all his followers out of purity. The sense of good is strong in him. He doesn't know that his generals share the bounty of living bodies, their victims-recently-saved, with all of his crew after nightfall. He doesn't see.

All the animals are gone. They went wild with fury and ate each other regardless of former diets. Horses feasting on dogs felt to us like a manifested sign of hell on earth in those first days. Now the world belongs truly to the humans in the final battle for the survival of the fittest. Darwinism taken to its ultimate conclusion. The earth has turned against us. Massive landmasses move across the globe without warning. Lavastreams form and chase their running prey mindlessly. Storms pull out trees, that are hundreds of years old, by their roots.

Yet. You and I are still here.

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