There are days when I remember the sun, now the skies are dark weeping their black tears as ash swirls within the smog. All I can remember of those golden days was thinking of work, I never stopped to enjoy the breeze upon my face, I never stopped to take notice of the bird song.

Now the sun is dead, the birds are dead, the land is dying and humanity is following and all I can think as I watch that creature in the village square is why he laughs?

I once approached him and asked “You sit there everyday, all day and watch us. You do not eat, you do not sleep how do you survive?” He laughed that awful laugh, the screams of a thousand undead wailed from their graves as that skull burned with a sickly glow. But no answer came so I demanded “Why must you haunt us?”

His laughter died upon the sooty northern wind, “It passes the day” was his reply.

He said no more to me that day or the next, he just sat watching as we toiled away in the shadowed world. The creature would just watch us, the resting dead occasionally rattled with his smug laughter they feared him as did we. Each time he laughed one of us died, each time someone touched him their soul screamed-no begged-for the sweet release of death. He was killing us, killing the land around him with his tar like legs. Deadly spores would dance in the thick grey air and he would laugh at every crying child that begged him to stop.

I was but a young girl when I first heard those words and now as sit by his side an old woman to sick to work I ask “Why must you haunt us?”

He picked up his front paw and underneath he showed me a most curious sight a dead honeybee.

-From the accounts of a journal found in Tibet

Artwork (C) snowy-ninja
Jägertinger / Schnappen Crachan © outputt
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