The bell tolls, ringing with the pleas of our dying humanity.
Countless millions of swarming locusts, like clouds of acid, fall onto our once fertile lands with the unquenchable thirst for Greed, Hate and Lust.
Like ants in their mound, they follow their orders... Never living, simply existing.
I smell the rot of innumerable dead. Corpses of the martyrs. The individualists. The believers. All piled into the mounds of such ants. Their beautiful souls, lights swirling in the atmosphere, devoured by legions of mannequins dressed in the designer rags of self pity.
They have no dreams or ambitions. Just to become another piece of the puzzle.
The last piece fits, showing the image of a clock tower in it's dark majesty, hands outstretched in mock adoration, face contorted in a gruesome smile, watching the insects devour themselves.
Too late, we realize time was never on our side.