End of Days

The Angel of Death stands poised to reap his gruesome harvest. He'd been fattening up the masses with hydrogenated corn syrup, gluten and trans fats, weakening them with tobacco and hard liquor, and now he's ready. The pathetic legions had been cupping their hands under the Fountain of Youth but the acid burns, they raise their empty, skeletal fingers to scorched and anguished lips, last days, their thirst unquenched. The Reaper watches, his jaws opening and closing, death spasms, gnashing teeth. The young woman heavy with child scrounging through the last vestiges of civilisation, the panicked flight, the unpaid utility bills, a bowl of oatmeal left too long on the stove. The Reaper laughs at mankind's futility.....

See you tomorrow??????