Like the meeting of an ember on bare skin, a sensation of burning flesh can most aptly characterize the world at its present moment. From blackened skies ashes reign; of hardened oaks, a kindling fate. There are echoes ringing over these scorched meadows, they sound of misery and pain. A thick cloud of chaos has spread through and through. The world is on fire, roaring flames consume.

The joyous sight of pure innocence, the lands where one grew from youngest to young, are of sacred value. Our first friends, our first romantic relationships, our first thoughts about our own existence, these places hold the keys to our life’s history. Indeed, we cherish these places, of highest regard we hold them. They provide for us a sense of sanity in an unsound world, a sense of stability during unstable times. Like a powerful beam shining down upon us from the lighthouse up on the cliff, these places can provide us with a sense of direction when we feel most lost and are in the dark. We cherish these places, but a murky cloud of chaos has infected entirely these old memories, a distortion of pure innocence. The world is burning with a flame which consumes hopes rather than oxygen, and the lands of our youth which we oh so cherish have been doomed and malformed by an evil teratogen.

But what of the domain of industriousness and passion, the location where bricks have been linearly stacked upon one another layer by layer; only so the acquisition of resources and production of capital may have a place to take process. Here resides the monotony of life that we ever so willingly chose, perhaps out of passion or even economic necessity. In this place of routine and repetition, faces became familiar and responsibility became nature. Some found the daily duties boring and arduous, to the point where life became gray and, well, lifeless. Like walking down a never-ending hallway, the left foot after the right ad infinitum. However, others found in this place a sense of purpose, a commitment and service to the greater society around them. A place to join together with comrades and strike down the daily challenges which are propped up by life. To some, routine and repetition were the foundations for a good life. But what now of this domain of industriousness and passion where our precious monotony resides?

From that source which allowed us like merry men to eat and drink, to quench the vehement sensations of thirst and hunger, the flow of sustenance is no longer. Evaporated it has; the world, being engulphed in flames and chaos, has proven to be too unbearable: utter destruction of industry and passion; thus has been the grimly fate of our routine and repetition.

Now we must deal with a most dreadful conclusion, if hope is to be found within the potentials that reside in time yet past, that transient glimpse onto good health and fortune, then what hope have we? Our world has burned and left nothing of our past nor present. When we open our eyes to the ongoing reality, all which lands upon our sense perception is but a sliver of time, a fraction of existence that remains; only to be experienced with misery and dread. Imminent is our doom, for those roaring flames, of our bodies, they will consume…..

Or is it just you?

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