Not much by way of a precursor. Felt a stirring and began reflecting.
Game of Drones: A Tale of Fire and Fury
Winter is coming.
We’re standing on the brink of destruction and watching with apathy. The fiery, irresponsible rhetoric of Kim Jon Un and Donald Trump is setting up an apocalyptic clash. It is the end of the world. No, it may not be the end of the world for you, but it will be for someone. Some woman who just started a business will be snuffed out. Some soldier with promise for leadership will be incinerated. Some child who has mastered beatboxing will choke on smoke.
The world, engaging and living sphere it is, is not unaffected. It is being attacked from within by it’s residents. Ants setting fire to the anthill. A madman and an imbecile are given nuclear codes, without a doctor’s note verifying their capacity. Level heads do not prevail, but cower in obeisance. Learned heads who believe in their own invincibility make public bets on survival. Turbaned heads wonder why they are labeled the terrorists - and why their terror was not captured on HD cameras.
It will happen when least expected. There will be no screaming Dothraki or note-toting raven. Anonymous aeronautic arrows will injure the land. The tremors will rock the ground and drop buildings like sand castles. Fire will sear the nerve endings of creation. The radiation will linger so long that everything born afterward will be defected. In furious fantastical fashion, altars will become ashes.
There will be no pirating of this future, no timely salvations, no unlikely resurrections. The end is near. Only one thing is certain, in the game of drones, you either win or you die.
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