[Mitch]

Rivers run dry in apocalyptic paradise where gas pumps fuel dune bugs that wind through infertile fissures deserted of living traces of a once lush earth turned wasteland. Geysers of toxic emissions spill from the crusty husk of the half dead god flushing its system of red hot sludge that swishes the rubble of long fallen metropolis walls, melting the minerals, dissolving the bones of the fallen, whos flesh had rotten in the moments following the corona that swallowed the globe in a blanket of darkness, absorbing the glory of retreating species who fought fate by combining elements, only to be undone by the rays of their father, artificially created to arm their finest regiments.