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Description
The state of a world and future is held in the hands of a timeless, formless, absent god, just waiting to let the ball drop. A ticking time bomb of epic proportions, and I, stuck in the middle, in preparation. It is always this way, the dread of whispered breaths weighing heavy on my bones, sitting in wait for the next snap of a finger, lost in the many of the past. They never stand out; they always think they'll be the one to make history, to be the Remembered, but in the face of Death, none of the petty creatures - causing their own demise, mind you - will be the one as they beg for life.

Licking their lips of the blood, they will say, “You can’t be here for me, it’s not my time. I was supposed to be great, larger than life! You can’t take me.” Lick their lips again but the blood is gone; it’s like clockwork and this time it’s fear. Variations of the same speech, all cracked and splintered, the form losing its shape as the broken record skips. Will they descend to a new reality, or continue facing the one they knew when their conscious world melted to the grays of my creation? Of my self? And somehow, they always know as I materialize into their sights, that this is their culling, and I am an impartial thief.

But the time isn't now; it hovers somewhere just out of reach, until the war. And I will wait.

Description
The state of a world and future is held in the hands of a timeless, formless, absent god, just waiting to let the ball drop. A ticking time bomb of epic proportions, and I, stuck in the middle, in preparation. It is always this way, the dread of whispered breaths weighing heavy on my bones, sitting in wait for the next snap of a finger, lost in the many of the past. They never stand out; they always think they'll be the one to make history, to be the Remembered, but in the face of Death, none of the petty creatures - causing their own demise, mind you - will be the one as they beg for life.

Licking their lips of the blood, they will say, “You can’t be here for me, it’s not my time. I was supposed to be great, larger than life! You can’t take me.” Lick their lips again but the blood is gone; it’s like clockwork and this time it’s fear. Variations of the same speech, all cracked and splintered, the form losing its shape as the broken record skips. Will they descend to a new reality, or continue facing the one they knew when their conscious world melted to the grays of my creation? Of my self? And somehow, they always know as I materialize into their sights, that this is their culling, and I am an impartial thief.

But the time isn't now; it hovers somewhere just out of reach, until the war. And I will wait.