A song sounded from the end of the world and echoed back against the wall of destruction that claimed what once was so fair a place.

The echo reverberated back through the ages to when it was heard by hermits on the still, quiet mountain tops. Those hermits, now prophets, went and told the people below, who had heard nothing but the torrents of their own noise all their days. And so they threw the prophets out, thinking them mad for their tales of the roaring song of desolation that would come.

In such a way did time wear on, the song of the end echoing back to the mountain tops from that final, turbulent moment when all would cease to be. The noise of the world drowned out the echoes, as well as all sense, and the senseless people found no more rest, neither for mind nor for body nor for their very souls. All was turmoil, and the restless dead, for dead they could only be, found no strength to care for the world in which they lived.

Filth mounted, the dead cried in pain, and the world groaned under the weight of so much grossness, but none answered the call for none heard it, and the only light to be found was the feverish haze of hastily lit lanterns burning whatever could be found.

An age and a day, and it all caught flame as the world finally collapsed below their feet. In the end, a wall of smoke and fire and falling, tumbling stone roared across the land, finally drowning out the noise that had deafened mortals to its echoes long ago.

And the sound was a song, a great song of wrath and doom that would not be ignored, and its echoes reverberated back through the ages…

Like it? Think I’m mad? Let me know in the comments! Also, please share this around. All proceeds go toward taking sodas to some crazy men in the mountain tops. Really.