Death and Taxes

Image: Pixabay

It is inevitable, you’d assume.

What is?

The end of the world.


And so the strode upon the landscape, epic steps, crushing acres of ground, vast landscapes passing by like water.

Then at last they strode close to the Final Solitude, and beheld the Mountain of the Gods.

Swiftly, swiftly did they climb, before Mercury could cry foul and Zeus’ lightning fall.

The titan of earth struck down the pearly gates with his titanium fist, and the wind wraith charged up the ascent, seeking only to consume and destroy.

The gods were ready. Striking down with his chariot of flame was Mars, helmet burnished to an angry ruddy glow, his fell hounds tearing away at foes with teeth that could fell conifers.

Diana’s arrows found their mark, decimating joints, dashing out eyes, and generally stinging, stinging, in places that hurt.

Zeus’ fire rained down, setting the world ablaze, the mountaintop plateau of Olympus blazed like a pyre.

And yet it was the gods’ end.

The lava titan overwhelmed the heavenly troops, unstoppable tide of death and ruin.

The storm titan threw off all of Diana’s shots, and even Zeus’ thunderbolts.

The gods were overthrown. And then sealed within prisons like they sealed the titans. A cosmic tit for tat.

And Hades reigned in Heaven, and the souls of the departed were tormented for an age and a half.

Until the gods returned, by a superior design.



A debt to Disney

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