The Last of Everything

At the end of the day, the very end, the tip of the spear of the end of the day, when the sun is no more than a pixel left piercing the dark, and the dark knows it, anticipating, waiting, hungry, the raptor with black wings ready to claim what belongs to it, in that moment of birth and death, the sun god meets with the winged creature and they wrestle, as they do each morning and evening, as if their lives depend on it, and the victor, as ever in this end of the cycle, the raven kills the sun god, and carries the lifeless adonis body up to its nest to feed it to its children, knowing that in the morning, with the first speck of light, one from the sun god’s children will come to vanquish, and the legacy of killing will continue until there is no more sun, no more horizon, and then, in opposition to the light at creation, the very first day, the dark will rule at the last, the last of everything.

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