“Ok, ok, you’re okay,” you murmur, pushing past them to the whitewashed house and the great stately red doors. You head up the path and are greeted by several enormous mastiffs, bounding to you and barking with great agitation. You walk to the sumptuous manor on the hill, well-locked behind a long, tall, spiked green fence atop a stone wall.
You walk through the city, punishing it with blasts of blue sky summer lightning. People run screaming and you blast them into steaming heaps of cheerful summer clothes and singed flesh. You raise your hands as if to offer the whole earth to the entity on a platter and lightning explodes the bricks from the nearby buildings, crushing them at the foundations and starting fires on the wooden townhouses beneath. Those lit by the gasoline pour out of it and go running up the street like fire yetis.
You let off a roar and lightning arcs from an invisible static in the sky, detonating a motorcar in front of you. Birds come and go in a variety of blue and brown hues. It is a beautiful day and the sun in the blue sky blesses everything beneath it with a gentle warmth. If only they realized the way the world really worked they would fall on their knees and grovel, but instead they slink about with their incalculable arrogance, enacting plans of banality with reprehensible certitude. You look about you with fury at the decrepit city-state of filthy nonbelievers and all of their ingratitude and pettiness.
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