What I killed from my last novel...

Every once in a while I post a little taste of what I am currently working on. "The Lost Pilgrim"  is a book I have spent too much, and also not enough time on (which is also why it isn't complete yet- sorry, I apologize for that). I've cut a lot out of the book to get down to the important part of the story, and I've been hard at work "killing my darling" trying to get it done. This part always makes me sad. There are a tone of things I love but had to remove for one reason or another. I save them but most never get used because they just don't fit anywhere. 

Today I want to post one here. This text was removed from "The Last Pilgrim" because it was out of place, and although I liked it, I couldn't keep it in the novel. I hope you all enjoy it!

“What beast could be so great that silence is its call?

One so monumental that all people hear it’s great and horrid howling, even those with no ears to hear. A calling sound, a culling sound, that no other noise may drown out. A low and shattering resonation so deep that it shakes the challis of the stars.

And when the final horn is sounded, and the machinations of the heavens grind to cease their motion, the people will know the name of that creature; that of entropy, that of material dissolution and final collapse; the implosion of everything that is.

On that day, all the things of soil and sand, the things of blood and bone, those ever-changing and evolving vessels of consciousness, will all lay their heads on vacant earth. In emptiness, they will stay, where their shining lights can be seen no more.

Even the gods will sleep in their "yards of bone" and forsaken endings. Each one’s hopeless grievances silenced by the unending growl of the great quiet. Godly in their rights and their immortality, they too will put their heads to the earth.

They will not understand, but we do, for we are all mortal, and we hear it each and every day. It creeps closer the further we go. And although we mask its call in various ways, we are full-aware that nothing and no one can put hands on it or stop its march.

Some might try. Some might stand before it with raised hands and spread arms. Poor fools they are. Some turn terror and flee. Unfortunate souls that die under its feet. Some, our bravest, mount that beast and take the last ride. Careless and bold halfwits tossed and eaten.

That beast, who’s call is the utter silence of endings, the one that collapses even the sound it lives in and undoes all things is the lord of entropy. That colossal, insurmountable, all-consuming beast is time; time is that beast so great that silence is its call.

Cheers!