The lightning had gotten closer, shorter in between its blinding flashes. Less and less preempted by the bellow of thunder. The sky seemed to have forgotten its moods these days. Eternally stuck in the gray lyrics of a Billie Holiday song. The world had been stripped away of our connection to it. Pathologically scraped at until its fragile tendons hung loose leaving the bones and the ghostly memory of something we once remembered as connective tissue. Humanity cried out over a sea of distant change, and the howling winds of technological disassociation. Across the sea whispers floated of progress, and communities built on cohabitation and respect. Which seemed an eternity from the ruins of avarice, and self interest once paved by titans of industry whose statues peeked out from under miniature mounds of dust here and there. On city borders and piers arrived Apathy, and Hatred appearing to those in desperation in shining armor, on wings of divine right. They trumpeted over the chaotic "come hither, we have boats to carry you across to better lands" But the boats were filled with rot from aging forms of platitudes which collected themselves around the sturdier parts of the boats, boats long since deemed unseaworthy by those who devised safer means of travel through innovation, and labors in love from the bottom up not the mast down. Some of those on land huddled in the safety of small groups of individuals, radical in their belief in a better way, but they mostly bickered over the planning of their escape, and built very little to ensure their own survival. Many would come to be buried under the tossed sand of their own battle for freedom. Others, near bereft of any human qualities, scurried hurriedly into the doomed boats, offered by the aforementioned demons. These lot had been heard before hissing out "Let us flee from these bitter people stuck in the dirt of their own spherical beliefs!".....The hissers themselves would later drown in the whirling tide pools of their own ignorance, under the weight of crashing waves of tradition, and vacuous “isms”. Meanwhile animals, stood some ways away steely eyed, now less anthropomorphized, and looked on at the climactic bedlam below from a working bridge nearby.
