The tell tales of the the told at midnight.
Grabbing for a hold in the peace.
The lightning and storms, what a sight.
Creeping in, the lies don't cease.


Lightning strikes. The puddle splashes. He swiftly runs through an ever lasting darkness to a building corner. Only the light of the half-moon to guide is feet. He is dark and unknown, swift and silent. He needs no one. Has no one. Shadow to shadow he leaps through the night. Never sleeping, his knowledge of crimes untold are unparalleled. Why dost thou not listen. Over and over, screams and cries tear through his skull, reminding him of his past. He strikes down the individuals consequence desires. Whether it is the silenced shot of his sidearm or the swift crack of a neck, the job is done. Guilt? Mercy? Sorrow? All gone, lost in a whirlwind of ill-happenings and softness. Uncaring is the new age of caring in the world of tomorrow. Threats dealt out, fighting, murder. These are the signs of happiness and true love.

The skies are black, ever constantly raining, ever constantly lightless. The half-moon always shining. That apocalyptic event, ever so present in the back of their minds. The people of the planet, tampering with what was not to be tampered with. The Eurasian continent now inaccessible. Half of Africa in hell fires and Australia never to be heard from again. South America is frozen over along with Canada and the northern most United States. The last few remaining major cities reside in the central original states. What use to be billions is down to millions. Society is broken. Rather than degrade in technology as expected from such an event, technology has advanced quite far with the need to keep our race from extinction.

Twas thirty decades ago, the moon was broken. The Kaaliokota Corporation tried to jump start Luna's core. They hoped to turn her into an entire biosphere to combat the extensive overpopulation. They succeeded in fighting the overpopulation. Luna was ripped in half as nuclear "tools" tried to start her heart back up. Half of the moon covered the sun in an eternal dance of eclipse, while the other shined always on the opposite sky. Most of the planet was bombarded with fragments of Luna's dying skin. That day was the last day we saw the sun, or what looked like many suns on the horizon.

Lightning storms are a constant. Constant enough to become the primary source of energy. The old saying, lightning doesn't strike the same place twice, is absolutely wrong. Fear. Fear.. Fear... The last human emotion to be of high degree. He knows where to run to, where to dodge. He has a sense of things, a feel for the heat of an impending strike. He has no more fear. Winds give way to his sprint. He feels the rain in the air. His gloves grasp a pole on the side of the stone wall. He climbs thirty stories to the top, the roof populated with poles and rods, generators and shielding. Bright electrical beams thundering around him hitting the poles and rods. He walks to the center feeling a heat no man could bear. The rain on his skin and clothes boil away, steaming off into the wind. Sparks and strikes hit him shocking him into the ground. His bones illuminate, bursting into flame. The air around his body cracks and pops. He disappears, though, he is not dead, but in another place, to be seen again.