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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Thu, Jul 18, 2019
"Bad odds." A blunt remark, considering how many people had just died. "They always are." A tired reply. She'd gotten too used to mass-graves.
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#26
lotsofgay
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Death and decay have rusted away at a world once prosperous; and now only the scattershot remnants of civilization speckle the tortured land, striving to maintain their own tortured existence-helpless. Hapless. Hopeless. As a whole planet-indeed, whole star systems-silently ready themselves for the ultimate plunge into the midnight gulfs that once propped them against the cosmic background, a tiny undercurrent threatened to upheave the prophetic vision that is entropy-slipping past those immutable laws that keep those sidereal streams in them heavens a-flowing. An insignificant spark of life, unassuming, forsaken amid the refuse of mankind-destined to change all of their destinies. This is its ballad.

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