Greg is busy scratching a bell-end into a junction box
when the world suddenly, catastrophically ends.
He is carbonised instantly, the sticky black veneer
Of his corpse coating the box as blasts
launch it into space. In millennia to come,
an alien civilisation's academics lever handsome
research grants for speculating on the origin
of this odd, austere monolith,
the probable heraldic provenance of the stylised
fleur-de-lis etched into its base.
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