Death of fear and end of magic

(i) What if the magic stops working?
Unsettling of dew drops, withering of leaves, long before the earth turned its face, the breath of tree trunks exhaling poison and inducing toxins into the molecules of air, shelters of all things living dismantling themselves, by the effect of a curse.

(ii) What if humans stopped fearing?
Seething brains, gnawing flesh, tramping down each other’s source of life with weapons that came as freebies, living by desire, free of trail and consequence, blood bath begetting blood bath, colouring the day with the blackening of sin, killing sight without jabbing in the eye.

(iii) What if catastrophes don’t end?
But, catastrophes don’t end. Humus of the soil feeds itself from the decays of the dead, as though death was allowed to enrich the soil, that in turn feeds more catalysts of catastrophes, the never ending ones which buried fear and exhausted all the power of magic.

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