The City at the End of Time
My mind is a golden hive, swarming with myriad impossible insects. I reach to the back of my shining honeycombed skull, plucking forth a squirming opalescent grub. I let it crawl over the technicolor veins of my skeletal hands, each step of its stubby legs bleeds paint from my flesh.
I crush it between my fingers and mix its innards with my own chromatic blood in a small stone bowl. I stab a quill into the ink and set to writing.
There is a city at the end of time.
You would think there would not be but there it is, standing beneath the pale white light of the last star, the cities own glow blending with the fading sun.
It has many names: the Pheonix City, the City of the Ark, Final Hope, the Faith Machine, the Rebirth Engine...
Most just call it the City. It's the last one, after all.
At the End of Time, mountains of the detritus of civilizations pile up over vast wastes of ash. Forests of petrified trees and people sit in shadowed valleys. Strange fortresses of woven darkness ri…
I crush it between my fingers and mix its innards with my own chromatic blood in a small stone bowl. I stab a quill into the ink and set to writing.
There is a city at the end of time.
You would think there would not be but there it is, standing beneath the pale white light of the last star, the cities own glow blending with the fading sun.
It has many names: the Pheonix City, the City of the Ark, Final Hope, the Faith Machine, the Rebirth Engine...
Most just call it the City. It's the last one, after all.
At the End of Time, mountains of the detritus of civilizations pile up over vast wastes of ash. Forests of petrified trees and people sit in shadowed valleys. Strange fortresses of woven darkness ri…
