We talk about the destruction of earth and how God will smite the land in the end of times. We destroy our earth every day (this isn't going to be an environmental conversation) with almost everything we do to keep living. We die. Everyone. Some in more painful ways than others. Death and destruction. My thoughts constantly come back to the fascination of the flood.

Really, it's a beautiful, tragic, unreal idea. We're taught of the flood when we're young and accept the concept, then forget to address when we're older.It's such a poetic story really. That god would choose to purify and rebirth the whole earth from it's folly and wickedness. I'm going to paint some pictures that have replayed in my mind.

Imagine you're living in a place swarming with people. The beautiful lush earth is covered with prosperity. Prosperity in populations of animals, people, food, land. And it's really dark. Really really dark. Everyone is wild, they all do as they please. And the funny thing about them is they know the flood is coming. They don't care at all. They actually have made a physical stand against god. They welcome the flood, and death, and with the knowledge of their impending doom, they drink into the futile lusts of their privileged lives. It only gets darker with the brooding clouds, brooding massive storms covering the entirety of earths surface.

Water is pouring, and with each darkening day the stagnant pooling fluid becomes viscus, coating the people, the land, the plants until only shapes are distinguishable. And their eyes stay luminouscand yellow. Darting, lit up by the prospects of darkness. They rejoiced and praised their coatings, embracing the despairity and inhaling the dark waters.

Then, something happened. The land soaked in trepid waters gave way. Weather from the stresses of new mass, or from some cosmic disruption, the fertile, green, drowning land broke and out flowed massive bodies of boiling water. Water channeled under our precious earth maintaining the land and prosperity that they indulged in. Rapidly the fluid level climbed. Faster than the people could retreat, or swim in. They fell in the waters. Becoming a boiling stew of mountainous dirt, greenery, and bodies. No light could be seen anywhere. Silent. Dark. Perpetually deep waters. The earth that once was illuminated by the holy spirit, by life, by the heavens, was gone. Nothing but silence.

Something else happened. When all was still and silent, the dark, clouded heavens cleared, and shook violently. It was as if the clouds themselves broke, and water didn't rain, it fell, in massive sheets. Clean and heavy, almost instantaneous. And perhaps on the the arc, when the water settled and light returned, they gained courage to step outside.

They saw nothing but light. The clean, unbelievable world of water reflected the suns light in a clear sky. And when they stepped closer, they could see bodies, countless bodies floating or sinking peacefully in the stillness of a watery, cleansing death. As the dirt separated and evaporation slowly took place, the bodies slowly surfaced. It was unbearable for the boat members to step outside anymore. All they could see was a endless horizon of clean, wrinkled, bloated bodies....

Dark. But this is kinda how I think of it, at the briefest visual narration.