The Apocalypse Flies

It was on a Saturday afternoon that the fuckery began. Few believed it at first. It was just too  strange to be true. There were scientists and religious leaders who sought to explain it away with things like quantum physics and the second coming but the truth at its most simple level was undeniable and far simpler than all of that. The world was rotting. When I say the world I do not mean the Earth. I mean all of conceivable reality. When I use the word rotting I am not speaking in metaphor. The stench was terrible. It smelled like nothing you’d smelled before. It smelled like time itself had just up and gone bad. It smelled like death as a concept. There was no escaping that smell. There was no getting used to it either as it was always getting worse by the second.

The stars and the sky turned disgusting shades of brown and green and the oceans began to fester and produce revolting abominations too terrible for words. The ground everywhere stuck to your feet and stretched out like particularly sticky chewing gum as you walked. People began to collapse in on themselves like mushy jack o'lanterns after Halloween. Yet they remained alive and in agony in the stinking, dying world.

All of this as I said before was explained a thousand ways by a thousand people. The extremely young and the extremely old acted like crazed animals. All of these terrible things happened in the span of only two days. It was on the third day of that final damnation when the end truly made itself clear that no one could deny what was happening.

The great black apocalypse flies arrived on a Monday morning. It was only natural that they would show up. Flies seek out dead things and this reality was most certainly dead. They came from nowhere. One moment the melting and discolored skies were empty. The next they were full of those giant winged monstrosities with their beady red and their far beyond countless legs. They feasted on our world until there was nothing but void and then they flew off into nothing or perhaps something beyond imagination in search of their next Armageddon. The next world they feast on could be any one of a billion billion others. Everything rots eventually. There’s no stopping entropy. There’s no escape from those buzzing winged things which wait out there in the darkness.