Smoldering ruins is all I see all around. The smell is acrid, full of the stench of death. It exhilarates me to no end. By it I know I have life. We have hope for the future.
The year is unknown. The planet seems to be earth, but it's hard to tell from our perspective, being as we're so close to the ground against these old giants which once ruled our land.
Our shells are hard as the chrystaline stones we walk upon, but our insides, liquid to the core, pure in fact, cannot be touched by any outside force, no matter how large and seemingly powerful. We are purity itself, hidden in our shell.
The gods are instrumental and deliriously figurative for us all. This land is ours for now.
Shit. They have a bigger weapon than us again. Back to the research lab! Build them bigger and smaller till we erase them all from the face of this ground. They look nothing like us. Any similarity is purely accidental.
We must do everything in our power to gather the remains of their day so that we can survive beyond these small days.
God is ONLY like us. He has six legs and has omniscient antennae. Thus we mustn't ever be confused about God's nature.
Devouring the remains of the dead is essential to our well being, just so long as it's not among our own.
But the dead among our own count too. The dead always serve the purposes of the living.
After all, we must live.
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