A cat’s cradle intricated out of a spider’s silken web suspends a full-scale amphitheater in mid-air between two pine trees.
In this amphitheater there are warriors in silver beetle-armor, spearing warriors in gold-beetle armor with splintering sashimi sticks. There are polar bears roaring after said warriors, swiping white claws at gold and argentine cheeks, chewing bloody drumsticks with the boots still trembling on the ends of the purpling toes. Above the amphitheater hawk the drones, giant grasshopper helicopters propellors whirring to pulverize any bird or other airborne object that ventures too close. They beam their lasers on the gold men, or on the silver men, and no one can agree on what ought to be done about the polar bears considering their status as property on the left half of the amphitheater which rocks, slowly but surely, in its spider’s silk cradle, breaking thread by thread the near-invisible veil that is the only thing separating the round theater from becoming museum pottery shards on the frozen earth miles below.
As the theater rocks with the turmoils of gold versus silver versus claws versus lasers, blindly it breaks every solitary thread that holds it so tenderly in life. As bombs explode and generals bang their fists on podium surfaces, the rocking violates each breath of silk the old spider spun so long ago before the dawn. With all the sounds of acronyms and different names of God splitting the ears of all alert creatures in the theater, no one can hear the last wisps of life snapping gently. While they have been arguing about the colors of soldiers inside their theater, its outside has been released from the hand of ancient spider silk and now rockets downward towards a shattering end. In the end, no one will be able to discern which side got their way with the polar bear proposition no. 25. All the archaeologists will notice is the fact that the universe, while people attended to more pressing matters, supernovaed into oblivion.
The pine trees were never discovered; Galileo had been killed off early and no one ever saw a star.
Image credits in order of appearance:
By David Abián – Own work, GPL, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=49770577
By José Carlos Cortizo Pérez from Fuenlabrada, Spain – Arena en dedo del pie, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34238156
By en:Douglas H. Wheelock – http://triggerpit.com/2010/11/22/incredible-pics-nasa-astronaut-wheelock/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12647822
By Vera Buhl – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7883947