If they can bide their time long enough for humanity to end, for the last third eye on Earth to close, they too will cease to exist, and only then will they know peace that those trapped within the walls of being cannot hope to break free to.

To reach Their ears, one must pray at night, keeping the world between you and the Sun, hiding your words in the shadow of the Earth, a minute umbrella that might protect them from the cacophonous onslaught of magnetism and light until they reach their distant patrons.

phosphorus. Let the wind carry our voices. Gathered around a great tree in communion, one looks ascance at another. Is fission a natural power? It is indeed. Give us then influence over the atom, let us cleave them in twain to further the natural dominion. And so it was.

seal your hole? I have stormed the dreams of prophets with my name and they have made an offering of yours.

Some grow ceaselessly, forcing upwards their ivory into the skull of the thing, impeded only when broken off in the bones of another old god. I feed out my guide line as I go about my work of tending to them like a plover, and I hope the braided steel is not cut before I am done.

they scan their sectors, I find that being alone is more lonely than it was. I hope they are out there, doing meaningful work, or work that makes them happy, or that suits them. One day maybe I'll be out and pick up a wink and a nod over the lowband, that would warm my circuits.

body. It whirs, "Who were they?" I'm quiet for a moment. "I don't know who they were." I pour us both a shot of JP-8.

dogs.