The Pegyuh and Chamatilly stand panting facing one another in a gray sunset with hunched-over shoulders and pushed-out bush, naked cept for headbands over their afros after their epic battle to end all preliminary warfare. Their eyes simultaneously drift downward, out of gravity or fear. They get a fix on one another's normally private parts in the blacklight.
"Has it happened to everyone now?"
"Yes, I believe so," one says to the other.
Pan out to planet view. Surface has been fundamentally changed as by a spray of synthetic HPV growth transcontinentally.
After a pause, one of the voices scolds, "While we agonize in our bodies, the planet dies."
Planet chimes in: "Since I'm under your boot, I get to not respect you. Whoop-ee."
Chama and Peg are ashamed in their fatigue, impotence, and malformations.
"At least I know I am moral after all. I am still a moral consciousness, I burn with a moral fire," says either Peggy or The Chama. They catch one another in the eye once more like a pair of savagely handsome young sires who know they fine.
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I like what you write. It's completely different.
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