paths, creating gushing rivers, where before there were none. No light was able to shine through the clouds, and if it wasn’t for the watches which the residents were able to carry, no one would know that they were experiencing day.

The occasional jagged rock was the only marker of where the once trustworthy paths used to be seen, rising up from the torrent of maroon filth as if they were grave stones, marking the place of the now consumed monuments.

Along those new twisting, turning, and frothing rivers, there were long, tall walls of dark grey crops, thick and rough, and thrashing in whichever way the wind was wrenching their limbs. The branches screamed and the leaves gesticulated wildly, yanking on the poor gnarls of the wood, aching for stability and the hope of not being ripped cruelly apart.

The wind itself howled and conducted itself as if it were a shrieking menace, possessed by spirits and writhing as if in a void of madness. All below the ever present, looming darkness above, acting high and mighty as if it were the portal to the land of the dead – a void of pure blackness, framed by swirling deep clouds, almost green and purple, and gleefully writhing, clashing and combining sadistically and for all to witness below. And bear witness the people did, a thousand eyes mirroring each other, all the same and identical to the last, gazing upwards into the abyss of madness, hope draining from their faces, as all their sorrows dug themselves up from the recesses of their mind, and haunted their homes and dreams.

The storm would drown their crops, starve their livestock, dig into their lands, throw down their houses. They would mourn, screaming, crying, and wailing. They would raise their hands, chanting for salvation, and then, when all hope was lost, when there was nothing for them, they would pay to bury their dead.

They would be disgusted as the penises of the dead fathers and the brothers, became erect, standing tall amidst rigor mortis, unabashed and unashamed of their circumstance and without cure, needing to be hidden by desperate mothers, let down even after the lazy, beer bellied - whose stomach and corpse exploded due to said beer belly - bastard died, and took their son, who at least had some fucking potential if you squinted and turned his end of year reports sideways.

Some of the craziest things are excused away after a person dies. A shit man, who you cannot ultimately harvest the organs of to study, will still be a shit man after he dies. He will also shit after he dies. And I will make my money as all your little romanticised, sanitised worlds have gone to shit, and you will see how useful I truly am.

Then I will be the most powerful man in the town!

Ha, ha!

At least, anyway, until I die, and leave all of you in despair, the town mortician-less.

Only two men were strong enough to brave the storm, dedicated enough to survive the torrential wrath of nature and walk free among the flooded lands. They walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder, not one man walking behind the other, standing on the same plain, with the backdrop of the booming, thundering darkness above them, their faces illuminated by the flashing attacks of lightning, striking as many times at it could, but always missing the men, scorching the land around them, quivering in the presence of the two allegedly majestic beings.

From the windows, the children of the town watched these two men as they undertook their mythicaljourneys. Nor wind, or rain, or mud, or rushing rivers slowed them in the slightest. The children watched, their eyes glimmering and shining, as the men marched, their bodies ramrod straight, even as mud clutched and squelched on their boots, wrapping itself around their legs, clinging to them as if it were the tendrils of a great, and unspeakable monster.

Their faces were slapped on both sides by the great, swinging plants, but the men remained unmoving and unrepentant in their march, charging forward even as the world around them fought to restrain them and punish them for the slight of daring to go outside during the rain.

The gushing, bubbling, frothing water, smashing against the legs of the men seemed to mean absolutely nothing to the two pioneers who continued their way as if there was nothing to be bothered by.

The wind tried its best with its clawing, sharp, shivering fingers, to uplift the cloaks of the men, and wailed in agony at each futile attempt as it continued its futile endeavours. No amount of raking those sharp hands could manage seriously affected the men, and from the eyes of the children, the further mussed up of the men only served to make them look more handsome.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Their eyes traced over their concealed figures, bodies guarded by heavy cloaks, and boots reaching up to their knees, giving tantalising peaks of their dress slacks as their clothing undulated and flung itself dramatically at every awesome flash of lightning. Their faces were mysterious and bold, with one man clearly older than the other. Fluttering wisps of hair peaked out with one man having his face by chestnut brown while the other, taller man had an entire stark silver ponytail hanging from the front of his hood, w the tiniest peeks of stubble, adding a slightly rugged quality.

The two men walked alone through the apocalyptic mess of the land, alone and silently, without conversation, the wind too loudly in their ears.

Mayoral Assistant Lee was entirely sure that Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson would explain himself eventually. Surely he was making his way to an acquaintance's home, maybe an old friend from his time in school, maybe even to the lodgings of an old teacher, too jaded with this world, and too perfectly aware of all the trappings of politics, well-versed in the art of public relations and with the decorum to not behave as if he or she were feral, porn addicted racoons whenever there were no eyes upon them.

Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson would not lead him astray here. This would be the family legacy. This would be his final, career defining action.

Mayoral Assistant Lee had known Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson to be competent enough during his career, whenever documents were sent to his office, he saw the man look over them, file them away into the cupboards at the side of the room, the stamp with his signature well used, and his voice, after his decaying body was wrangled out of his office and given to the local vet for a thorough cleaning, was well rehearsed, and his speech was charismatic.

His only real fault was his aspiration to become an author, but that in itself could be seen as noble, never giving up and improving as each failure was overcome, striving to become the very best of his craft.

In his highly professional opinion of course.

The man in question walked confidently, his back straight and shoulders relaxed, face never straying as he walked forwards, staring down the rapids and the flashing lightning. Mayoral Assistant Lee's heart pounded, as he watched the scene.

He felt so inadequate as he felt as if he was slipping behind, not sturdy enough against the wind, not strong enough against the rapids, not adjusted enough to face the lightning. He felt blood rushing towards his cheeks, and felt a growing warmth in his chest.

At the time, he unfortunately, highly unfortunately, misattributed those emotions to an uplifting inspiration, so great and mighty that he felt as if he was capable of flying through those lovely, black clouds, running through those rapids, and leaping high above the crops to sail through the wind.

Such a tragedy, dear reader, though not nearly as tragic as Macbeth. Poor, poor Macduff's son. How could anybody forget the truly iconic line of," He has killed me, mother." Truly the most tragic piece of dark comedy in its genre. A mass murderer's promising career cut short as fate itself conspires to end his life.

Anyway, where was I.... back to the scene.

In the distance, Mayoral Assistant Lee spied a skeletal structure on the horizon, blending in perfectly with the dark sky.

It's roof was black, its walls were black. The gates around it were black. There were no lights in the windows. As he got closer, he noticed that the roof was unfinished and hollow, looking like the ribcage of some massive beast. The doors were painted black too, and the entire structure looked to be made out of stone.

Even closer still, the building finally revealed itself to be a huge, old, dilapidated mansion. Vines crawled up the walls, dying there, and rotting into black, and the locks of the gates were rusty, easily shattering and falling into dust under Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson's strong, powerful hands, which could easily hold down Mayoral Assistant Lee onto a bed, tying him up with his tie, choking him and- [CENSORED FOR INAPPROPRIATE CONTENT MAYORAL ASSISTANT LEE. WHEN I ASKED FOR DETAILS, I WAS NOT EXPECTING SUCH EXTREME AND DARE I SAY, STEAMY, INFORMATION. MY, OH MY, YOUNG MAN]

The dynamic duo, best friends for the rest of their lives, heterosexual life partners, made their way down the cracked path to the domineering front doors, towering over them, dwarfing them and asserting itself, almost to the extent of twisting to appear above them, like they were annoying little ants.

Mayoral Assistant Lee shuffled slightly behind Town Mayor Frederick Hindlebirth Johnson, peeking out from behind his back as his superior made to knock on the door, only for it to creek open on its own.

Mayoral Assistant Lee cowered further, shivering from fear, and not from arousal, like any rational person, like I, would. Weirdo.

Inside, despite the decrepit exterior, was clean and harsh. There was not a single speck of dust, all the surfaces shining.

In the centre of the hallway, a giant black sweeping staircase stood, with tall thin windows, taking up all the walls, candles in their candle holders burning softly, framing them. Above, a giant, glistening, opulent chandelier hung, perfectly lit with red, licking flames.

A throne sat in the centre of the room, holding up the frame of a tiny, skeletal woman, with tiny eyes glowing black. She lifted up her head, and grinned.