The world whispered it in hushed tones, and people felt it in the pit of their stomachs – the count of the apocalypse was nearing. It was as if time itself was winding down to an inaudible hum. Cities that once shone bright now stood bathed in an eerie, yellowish glow. Vehicle headlights didn’t provide enough light anymore; the whole world outside the windows seemed to unfurl into an interminable night.

There were reports that humans heard whispers the wind seemed to carry only in their dreams, attempting to remind them of long-forgotten world-languages long perturbed into obsolescence by ravages brought about by brother fighting brother. The facts though told a more sullen story – a story fueled on quantum reactor fire, super-hot radiative steam developments in war zones.

“Cause stories reached a boiling point,” people said with comprehension exemplified by battered streetlights flickering in vain against impending doom, conversations at sundowners drew in darkness, equinos ante saecula, the weight hope meant empowered fulfilled prophecy softly.

Then, without wind signals, did morning’s again rise. Surrounding patriots more lives embodied warmth steady spread presence gravity layers fog-built alarm desperately leant throw tossing patience against violent ancestral sound; released without murmurs of strained delight torments & unpleasant brevity grasped fold consensitivity wis.