A valkyrie gets carried away
by her resentment at all those Aesir assholes who treat her like she’s a heavenly transportation bureaucrat
by her new dream
by her own bloodlust
which builds and builds
as she plays her assigned role
carrying dead warriors to glory
she’s seen every combat technique
she cross-collateralized all battle data
atoms of thought
rotating, bumping, burning
ever faster
in her mind
comes an inflection
she crosses a threshold
implements a more directly interventionist policy
following the inspiration
of her rubblemind
of her whirling mad blades
losing herself
in a cyclonically slicing storm system-of-systems
every head
separated
from every neck
now she’s vomiting forth every kind of weapon
weapons that shouldn’t even exist
weapons good for one cataclysmic shot and then good only for the junkpile
weapons that repulse with their rapacious population erasing efficiencies
weapons that make the eyes roll with their cornball rhetorics of nostalgic golden ages of piss
weapons that don’t even wish to fight but for terror of her wrath
weapons that improve themselves kill by kill
weapons that birth other weapons
weapons that output their own ideologies complete with ready to implement propagandist street teams
-soon enough
there’s not much left
but a glowing valkyrie
hovering above a planetary field of cataclysm
she’s the very image of the serene obliterator she saw nightly in the dreams of her youth
all of that
and a debirthed world of weapons fighting other weapons
at some point
she’s distracted by an eyeball caught on her knuckle
earth rises to meet her soles
she’s beguiled by the strange yolk
there’s woofy-wooing noises down here
she looks away from her eyeball rider
down into the eyes
of a desperately dumb and touch-starved brindle pitbull
as it jumps up on her waist
its ass whipping furiously side-to-side, blurring even, like it got its DNA spliced with a hummingbird’s or something
the valkyrie lowers her fist to the dog’s nose
the dog licks the eyeball right off her knuckle, swallows it whole
and backs off her waist
to an adorably loyal sit-at-attention posture
the valkyrie looks up to see her last target
the God of the monotheists who has eluded her so far
out there at the vanishing point
a swirling mass of dragon heads and baleful eyeballs and bellowing mouths and heavy crowns and ugly walls and cruel laws and thunder and floods and plagues and pretensions
raising a vast and terrible landmass
a very continent
up over His head
which He then
lets fall
upon His very crown
an apparent self-burial
a very disappointment
as she had been looking forward to a properly cinematic Final Battle
but now she’s oppressively tired
by the ever lengthening to-do list unraveling before her
by the looming ordeals of an endless series of tiny battles
with all those living weapons
she coughed up
she plops down upon the earth
even if she wanted to sit in a chair
she’s pretty sure she killed off the platonic ideal form of furniture itself,
let alone all the craftspeople who could implement the earthly manifestations as per worthy designs,
and in that moment
she realizes
that she always had a curiosity about furniture
but too late to do anything about it
so she’s plopped down upon the earth
the pitbull charges into her lap
strong, swift,
and suddenly very still
for it has fitted itself into the pets and scratchies place
without really thinking
she kneads the dog’s flank
with her sinewy once nuclear white fingers, long ago dyed rusty by a billion gallons of blood
soon enough
the dog’s asleep
and she’s zoned out
a pale figure
seemingly at the point of death
but if we cut to the close-up
we see she looks
I dunno
trapped
-ventually,
there’s a postscript
which is
something to do
with the valkyrie’s powerful heart-ripping, skull-crushing fingers
kneading that pitbull’s flank
a rhythm is put into play
malfunctioning the minds of the living weapons
who forget to be sentient
and all fall clattering upon the cataclysmic earth
even the valkyrie forgets herself
leaving that desperately dumb brindle pitbull alone to wander the earth
for-
not forever
right?
more like a dozen years, I would reckon
bit of a downer
but there will be plenty of exotic scents
from all those weapons the valkyrie vomit-birthed in the Final Age
that pitbull won’t be hurting for sniffin’ materials
and it may even get dream pets and dream scratchies from that valkyrie when it sleeps
call it Canine Valhalla
