{\rtf1\mac\ansicpg10000\cocoartf824\cocoasubrtf480
{\fonttbl\f0\froman\fcharset77 Times-Roman;\f1\fswiss\fcharset77 ArialMT;}
{\colortbl;\red255\green255\blue255;\red34\green34\blue34;}
\margl1440\margr1440\vieww9000\viewh8400\viewkind0
\deftab720
\pard\pardeftab720\ql\qnatural

\f0\fs32 \cf0 \
\pard\pardeftab720\sl360\ql\qnatural

\f1\fs26 \cf2 He lay there, the king, under the moonlit trees in the forest of his own heaven. The light blanketing the leaves with white existing in a great, lambent dark sickened him, for his kingdom is painted in blood and the flags are tattered on their poles. Earth's green and brown veins enshroud the school-houses and maggots parade around in the fermenting gizzards of dead livestock in town-square. The shadows are still and cold and the people are colder still. The vultures circle overhead and the clouds rain only dust. The dams are leaking and the clocks tick towards the\'cainevitable\'caend. This\'catreacherous\'catick rings like a thousand cannons firing behind the skull of the once grand king.\
It rains in the forest of the king's own heaven. The trees secrete milk that spirals and dances in the bubbling mud and the shrieking insects of the night go and search for their beautiful fluid. Roots encircle and take hold of the king, forcing upon him the embrace of a universe that does not tire or falter. The elements pain him to the marrow and he dreams of his bed of fine linens and it's feather pillows. A candlelit dinner in his crooked, leaking dining hall was what he screamed for. Nature's mantle of strength descends on he, the king of a grand utopia, for he is a fiasco machine just like you. }