Eternity on Paper [COMPLETE]

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Armageddon wasn't quite what it was envisioned to be. Rather than a spectacle of senses, the end was a whisper in the wind—yet oh so desperate for attention.

As it turned out, the grandiosity of the finale was as much a myth as the excellence of existence. What had come before was what would come after and again after that. It wasn't just the writers and the poets that had forsaken creativity and motivation, but the architect as well. The debris and desolation had made that crystal clear.

Desperate cries would deafen their owners and go uncared for by all, including the wailing themselves. The charade was almost over, and it was obvious as could be. At long last, the audience could remove their masks and bear full witness to the inevitable.

Dignity died long ago, and so would they. All would come to an end, yet it would not. Indignant indecision would freeze all as it was as a revelation would descend from above.

The end was overrated, the masses would find. Tears couldn't fall forever, neither could the rain.

The release of witnessing the apocalypse would bring about a new era of peace and prosperity. Truth would once again be restored, and deception would only be necessary in the company of the likeminded.

All it ever took to survive the end was malicious indifference and a budding flower.