Let it be known that from now on, I’m not fighting any battles. Let anybody who cares, speak now or forever hold their silence. You can have my words and you can have my will… for what am I to anyone besides that. You can take whatever you haven’t managed to already, and you can have my blessing along with it too. All I ask in return is that you let me be. Let it end. Let me drift away. Let me move on. Let me return.
Sometimes in your life, you find yourself thwarted by your surroundings, imprisoned by the dowdy present, when you’d give anything to roam the olden-roads of the past or the sleek-highways of the future. Stuck in a multitude of average, numbed out of your very existence, when you’d rather be extremely-fudging-high or painstakingly-reckless-low, your eyes hungry for a lick of fresh crème’ paint, or even fraying, flaking sheets of radioactive lead, but not this dull, tasteless chalky white, oh god no. This was as rutty as ruts came. This was an abandoned stage and the act lay with the audience. This was an Earth that warmed the Sun. This was light that stemmed from the absence of darkness. This was chaos. This was a poor show.

So you envisioned a different land. And as your neurons clocked in overtime, the graphic engines roared to life and as your pia-matter started rendering you turned the bricks into stones and the faded red turned a fresh green and tendrils grew into the embrasures and vines climbed up the windows and the earth turned over in its grave, a rich black that swam up to the edges of the roads that were a murky grey like the sea and the sky was where the fishes now shined for the stars had fallen into the ocean. The people turned into frozen blocks of Lego, the animals became the masters, and the lions purred and dressed up in suits, the monkeys donned jeans and went to work, while the ants became the elite. The bulls gave up grass and took a fresh liking to veal, the bats became deaf, the caterpillars grew wings, and the penguins learned to run like the wind. The rats grew manners, flamingoes took up dancing, the spiders learned to fly, the silk-worms spun gold, and the camels learned to jump through a needle’s eye and land flat on their humps. They treasured time instead of money, and wore paper and wrote on clothes and if you planned on dying you dug your own grave and stuck it inside a rocket and others helped you climb on it. Such was the seventh thousandth year after man. Such was the end of the world.