Titans

With enough rumble of the floor one may start visualizing a split. And as the rest of the area caves in, some thousand mile perimeter, so unveils a whole underworld churning in its own economic leviathan. Falling down and some of the villages tucked between valleys trading coins of crude obsidian. Away from the volcanic deserts the goliath monsters trade in blood, dragging skins for a trail.

It is precisely the depths and its innate darkness I can only blearily survey as the wind evicts the rest of my lungs. By an Act of God there’s a lone pond of mist nestled in mountains to break this descent. Swallowed in the water silence until shored and I hear the screeching above, moreso guttural, with a 50ft wing span to slice the fog, and at once scattered upon a dragon’s echo. Toppling ice caps dot the setting horizon.

It is with the same strangeness I look at all media and art derivatives. One can only wonder what hidden symbols wait. What cracks between these conveniently selected character names? To wonder if their horrors are only loose depictions lifted from our own underworld hidden. How carefully woven to burrow a mind.

I am on guard against the titans lurking, waiting to rip spines in half. With a trusty and classically stitched spelunker’s hat and headlight, satchel and lantern, pot clanking and preservations and a raggedy blanket, one shall tend to their meagre existence. Dodge the shadows spanning miles; venture forth.