We can feel it coming, like a poison in the air. It seeps into everything, a plague, a disease. We live among it, turning a blind eye, helplessly denying its existence. It grows among us, fed by our useless indifference, fuelled by our feigned ignorance. It is a tension, an increasing unease.
It is all around us, eager for our hatred, our anger, our greed. It is not alive, but it is living. Living in our hearts; our minds, living in our souls. Living in our money, and in our gold. Beneath our feet it slumbers, above our heads it rests. It lives in our machinery, it lives within our houses. It waits in the oceans, restlessly pending the imminent climax. The beginning of the end.
Like an angry dog chained to a fence, it strains at its leash, fighting to be free. Fighting to begin the task it was born to complete. It resides in the deepest, darkest parts of our hearts, and we unknowingly embrace it. We know that with it, we will be freed. With it, the earth beneath will be cleansed. Purged. Of us. Of what we have brought. Of what we have started. With it the world will be liberated.
And then it arrives. It begins. War. Like a watched pot, it has waited. An age has passed, and finally we have turned away, uninterested. The bubbles will form. The pot will boil. And now, we will too. With this war, we will die.
It has waited, it has slumbered, and now its time has come. Now, it will finally break its chain, snap its leash, and with it, war will come. We will no longer turn a blind eye. Our eyes will be opened, our sight returned, and we will see what we have done.
What we have caused.
And when it ends, this Earth will be free. Free of man. Free of hate. Free of destruction. Free of all that which as cursed it. We will not see the aftermath. We will not see the end.
Our war will finish us. Man will be destroyed, obliterated. Annihilated. We will be taken into darkness, and we will leave behind the world. That which we have missed. That which we have covered in our buildings, in our roads and in our waste. Left behind will be beauty, whole and untouched. Destruction will breed growth, and a cycle will begin again.
Buildings will burn and crumble. Cars will explode into nothingness. Screams will splinter the silence. There will be no time for mourning. The dead will be dragged aside, and others will take their place. This war will not be pretty. It will not be glorious, or brave. It will be cruel. It will be fast. It will be terrifying. It will be a brutal fight. A fight for life, a fight for survival. A fight that we will lose.
Trees will grow again. Plants will flourish once more. Birds will sing to the rising sun. All will live once more. And war will once more be born. Born into a world of peace and beauty into the heart of a predator, the soul of a hunter. It, the war which we ignored for so long, will bide its time once more. Waiting for such a time when Earth will once more need cleansing. Awaiting the climax. Awaiting the beginning of the end. That is the cycle. Like a phoenix, born from its own ashes. The fires of war will end, lives will end, and from the ashes of destruction new life will begin.
It is the cycle of war. True war has come, and it will come again. Now all that is left to do, is wait.