Sci fi creative embroilment by Jack Whitehouse

Final days.
In these slow minds feel slow times, in yet harsh eyes feel knives like fine sculptors; dancing in the eye of oblivion. Crept like villains in the canvas of war, stood amongst many mighty yet they alone were stoic. Knew they a finer future to life than to greet divinities servant at the gate and be subservient as a stag, hate was a harder metal than hope. Passions well read, had spools of space set out and softly so: retold as a binding than a briar. Befallen sins then all falls stopped together and so was set. 
Years to the day, scriptures of sacred statues set out the stars and mapped enigmas – drawing lines between dots drawn by buried scholars. As days became less and fewer, scientists set out from time to truly living; encountered rather than ran from a faster fate, making their final moments a gallery else a tomb for all futures.
Hellfire rode across Earth’s leagues as a curse in chasing, basking vast cobalt oceans in a belt of fire; those living suffered as all Eve’s. Valleys, mountains and monuments of harmony fell into the claws of clouds of dust, bearing down upon all living life with ferocity. In these final moments, a rare few Architects stood together against the winds and confined fragments of life in a small vessel. Encased this in pure obsidian, basalt and compounds of shales in which to preserve its cargo unto the vast depths of space.
Those elder marvels were truly magnificent, far ahead in subjects of science but in the blanket of isolation they bore conflicts of compassion and uttered war into peace where without it was before. You see, there were a many men in so few a sea hence became a great arms race of sorts: telescopes turned to atoms from the cosmos unto means of mass destruction. Emergency broadcasts rang from all homes at all hours till it was as a ticking to the reapers tock; as all death became unlocked, so flocked.
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Upon a starry sky lay upon them a reason as to why yet to shine; life’s embers led like saint’s soliloquy. Led into Perseus’s plane, crashed and thundered through, cracked yet not broken too. Burst open as yet breaking loose from all bounds, carbon on calcium on cogs of a great mechanical turning, wielding where once lay all but nothing. 
Life led so well so but not in dying though; exhibits of elements twirled and draped into luminous arts of all fascinations. Upon millennia, primitive postures of beings etched into stone great garments of god’s gift. So the world wondered and wandered in the perfection of perseverance, great species emerged and ceased as the wheel of evolution spun soft spirits so. 
Thus in the infinity of forever became a reverence of their realms, turned their senses to the stars and reached out for a hand withheld long before. The final days and future ways of living yet die as greed gives giving yet not to the wise.
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