Terrible Poetry

I'm also going to put scraps of writing here, because why the fuck not.

It was a dark and stormy night… which is, unfortunately, an entirely clichéd way to begin a story. But let’s be honest with ourselves. The story doesn’t begin here. It doesn’t even end here. This is one of those stories that interpose themselves in between the inflation of the universe and whichever flavor of cosmological-constant-related universe-death you prefer. It was night on Antares, or at least it was on the half of the planet we’re concerned with right now, and there was a major supercell overhead, buoyed and fueled by the warm waters of the ocean, that had decided at that particular moment to absolutely piss down across the rising waves. So we’re telling it like it is; there was a night, and it was stormy.