. . .

The end of an era

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was a day long forgotten, and a day yet to come. It was the end... of an era.

It was also a Wednesday.

Not a very good Wednesday, either. One of those grey, cloudy Wednesdays, where the air is grey and the buildings are grey and the ground is grey and your life is grey. You've been there. Where the best thing you could say about the day is that at least the week would be more than half over when it was done.

"Tell them about the ending."

Oh, yes. And the Age of Reason was ending, ushering a new age of magics and power. And the Wise, they who were known by the people as wizards, they returned on that fateful Wednesday. It wasn't even October 31st, for crying out loud. It was March. March 28th, a day with no mystical significance whatsoever. You'd think that they'd have the common courtesy to return when we were expecting it, or something, but oh, no, we're supernatural beings that have roamed the earth since the time before time, and we're just going to return on a Wednesday in March because we can.

The ingratitude of it. Sure, we were what caused them to leave in the first place, but they could have left us a voicemail. "Hi! We're the forces of sorcery! We're going to be in town in late March, would you mind putting us up for a few eons? Thanks!" Instead it's signs and wonders. Signs and bloody wonders! I ask you!

"We don't have to account for our actions to the likes of you."

No, you don't, do you, you unmitigated bastards. You rule all time and space, so what are the whingings of a mere mortal to the likes of you? Makes me sick, it really does.

"Get on with it."

I'm collecting my thoughts, is that all right with you? Bloody fascists. Can't even give a man half a mo' to catch his breath. I'm trying to narrate forebodingly, do you mind?

There had been oracles in the past. Nostradomus had predicted a time of upheavel just after everything had started looking quiet. The sibyl at Delphi had left a message warning that the gods themselves would return. And there were signs and mysteries in the days preceeding. Three headed calves being born. Shooting stars falling by the thousands. A lone comet, it's tail crossing half the night sky. A housewife found a pickle shaped like Elvis. Truely, it was a miraculous time.

But in that Age, the Age of Reason, we had been trained to ignore such things, to label them as merely cosmic phenomena of no import to the trained mind. Few listened. None listened to those who did listen. So the world was unwarned when They came back.

On that Wednesday, at just past three, a golden glow lit the sky. A chorus of angels were heard, singing, their song bringing tears to the eyes of all. With a sudden crash, the song ceased. A moment of silence, pure. Then, sky tearing asunder! Clouds letting loose their fury! In a heartbeat, chaos came to the land!

"Then tell how we - "

I know! Don't rush me!