When the wicked breeze whispered against her nape and her senses dulled, within the waves of numbness drowning her, she knew what was a comin’
When the ground lurched and his insides rumbled, the ever rising lava of anguish took hold of his being, crushing him within its grip, he too knew what was a comin’ But when the sunflowers began sprouting at the speed of light and the thunder became encrusted in ice, did they know the full capacity of what was a comin’? I could have a great laugh at their guesses. Watching them as a prideful bystander who’s lived this hundreds of times, I can’t help the excitement probing at my veins at the chaotic struggle to sue; nor my giddiness at the anticipated answer to the obvious question. Who would survive? I managed to do it! I managed to survive for decades against it and I would watch without a speckle of guilt, but unadulterated glee when their exhaustion consumed them and strips of their last inkling of humanity. Who was to survive?
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