A group of barbarians with battle-axes, rugged men of yore, beast hunters, builders of a better tomorrow upon the blood and death of their enemies, slew a blinding path through the darkness, up the marble stairs of a land called sweetness, milk and honey, violently stolen from them, yet written in the blood which would never desert their precious lives until the day they lived no more.
The moment they lived no more was between one sunrise to one sunset, between one year and the next one coming, one fat century piled on top of many others. They would stop living at once and eventually, for all, kicking that day in the teeth of which it happened, and if it was more than a day, it was within the year, or the lifetime in which they were still living. If they didn’t die within their lifetimes, they thought, then what more of a fucking tragedy that would be, too, because their deaths and lives never met.
Aside from that, it was a merry hack-away at monsters and animals and evil villains oh, my. They were the evil ones, probably. Who goes hacking apart their enemies? Evil doers, or men without sense.
Barbarians, rage-clad, weapon-bearing, blood-thirsty archaic, meat-cleaving barbarians. From, oh what’s a real bland place, Missouri. Tempsley, MO 45819, in fact, Carl, one of the lead barbarians in charge, was still living on 1107 Canter St in Tempsley, MO 45819, but his driver’s license said otherwise.
That’s why he was flipping out. That’s why all these guys were flipping out, because of how abnormal and artificial society had become in trying to wrench the truth out of existence. Scientists were flipping nunchukas, accountants were wielding fireballs in the streets.
Why? Because evolution demanded it. It got tired of our silly games and, in fact, what we considered to be right or truthful, and so decided we’d all just become terribly disastrous monsters with atomic powers within a few generations of kids. People weren’t even having kids by then, because the mountains were pouring out rivers of stones coming alive to be, not car salesmen, but something more.
If life had gone the way that they had all intended, these kids would have gone off to college, instead they were able to teleport to other dimensions to learn their educations, of which were not needed, since the very force of their will was so fearsome and terrifying, they could change nothing at all.
This just fucked up everything so badly, because no one had any idea of what was normal or correct behavior, how to act, or what to be once you had reached some level of maturity. Get your address changed at the DMV, thinks Carl? By now, it was 100 feet underwater and even the camera used to take the picture on your license would steal your soul, because of all this frightening change was happening.
They all still had souls. That’s what they were fighting for, nature was at war with itself, because we all imagined something greater than this place, one in which this craziness was done or over. Their souls would be found having lemonade and watching the sunset, they’d shake their head and look down at their glass of lemonade that was just so sweet and just so good, and they would have it back.
They were trying in their dreams, or nightmares, to get back to this honey sun-drop of a setting, but they were doing it all wrong. It was their souls that they were meant to be, not these terrible monsters that would mercilessly destroy their freedom by blade, or spell, or flight, vainly and desperately trying to win, these accursed afflictions of illusion, no.
You sit back and sip your lemonade thinking how much better it is to be sipping lemonade and watching a sunset, then to be a terrible, wretched beast in a nightmare of a reality.
But they’re both real, in this story, or somewhere in between.