Epanalepis de Fato Hominis

Earth is not Earth. This once green-covered planet is now a ball of water. The poles have fallen to heat, the sea ice is now Death himself. Hazy red now covers the once blue sky - the byproduct of man’s self made apocalypse.

Government is, no more, government. What once were leaders are now excommunicated to the murky deep waters of what was once territory of the American Confederacy. Revolution sprouted, all with the intention to get revenge for make-shifting the rapture.

Revolts became much more than revolts. The vindictive became the leading savages. As the floods drew in, a holy trinity of men came together and decimated the pitiful government, being the cause for their excommunication to the bottom of the sea - sending their bodies there, never to be seen again. These Gods now stand as the rulers of the world, even using fertility facilities in submerged cities to recruit new followers to ensure their dominance is not challenged. Everyone, including me, is trapped in New York City, all at their merciful, bloody, hands. Before the government collapsed a wall was built around the Big Rotten Apple to protect from the floods. Now that Washington has fallen and Demonic Gods have taken control, we are play toys. They can open the gates of the walls whenever they want and flood us into the afterlife, but then they won’t have anymore playtime with their toys.

Life is now a false life. They deliver gut-wrenching abuse to us in the streets and even in our nearly destroyed “homes.” They kick beggars, steal the little food we have - one could even be shot without any due reason, does it really matter, though? We are merely rag dolls in a shooting range.

Asylum is not asylum. The city is falling apart as we endure this Hell, embers strangle the sky as we limp through the streets. Skyscrapers are collapsing every day from being worn out, killing thousands of souls every time. The day the Empire falls will be catastrophic. Homesteads are merely a mirage, most being fallen apart. Beggars cover the streets as the population becomes larger: more open rag dolls to the range.

Upper class men aren’t upper class men. Further, class is non-existent. The Waldorf Astoria, previously a high-class hotel where even Marilyn Monroe stayed, became a safe-haven for the upper class after the floods began. Not long after our Gods rose, it was vaporized as to make a statement: none shall surpass anything more than a bag of flesh and bone.

Resolution becomes another resolution. Climax exceeds and reaches another climax. The cycle never ends. As we walk these crumbling streets and watch Helios’ metal chariot pierce the sun and fellow souls on the street with bullets, I wonder what is to come. I’m a human doll - will I ever be anything more? No, the grey walls that surround me say otherwise.

All feelings of pain and regret are gone: I am numb. If this ever does end, I will never be the same. No one remembers our past life away from this grey land, were we even children? Mother, Father: wherever you have gone, don’t watch your son, he is walking the roads of Hell; Elysium is nowhere in sight. My inevitable destiny follows the rest of everyone in this God-forsaken slaughterhouse, the bells toll us to come forth.

This is de Fato Hominis, self-destructive: The Fate of Man.