The day is where the rain has falling in time with the hat on the cat that sat on the mat one time, although the mat was actually a boiling death pit of lava and the cat that was on the mat that was not actually a mat very slowly and dramatically sunk to its death as lava is hot and the only, proper way to die in a boiling death pit of lava is to sink slowly and dramatically, as there is no other way to die when you die in a boiling lava pit of death.
The cat, knowing only too well what was going, accepted its fate with a quiet dignity, preferring to know that there was no escape from the situation and realising that there was no point in flailing about as that would only be undignified and and unbecoming of a cat of its stature.
As it sunk underneath the waves, it began to ruminate on its life and what had transpired throughout its years of witnessing the waking world.
It thought of times when it prevented a bank robbery through sheer grit and will of belief.
It thought of the moving of the mountains that it did of an extended period of time that required a great amount of effort and power, and powerful effort.
There were times when the cat had experienced loss, love, success, failure, and gained the knowledge required to stare a moose down.
It had driven cars, broken records set by the world and then redefined the nature of being with only a singular handsome wink.
It had done and seen it all, and now it had met its ultimate destiny.
Had it been an accident?
no. The cat knew that this was how it had to all end and so willingly entered the final state of being before the lava had engulfed its body and swallowed its vision.
The cat knew that this was how it all had to go. It had done far more than anyone could ever think that anything could ever do and it knew that if it did not make the sacrifice, then people would become far to reliant on it for assistance and advice. There was no way that that amount of knowledge should ever be contained within one body of being.
The knowledge had to be spread about so that people would not become lazy about the things that needed to be done, or something.
Therefore, at the precipice, at the edge, it sat on the mat that was not the mat and actually a death pit of lava and in doing so, it did not die. Death failed to grip the cat, for it was swallowed whole by the viscous enemy to life and it sunk to the bottom, then tunneled its way out in order to go on a permanent vacation.
Underneath the bottom was a cucumber that it hopped on and surfed through the vastness of space to some planet.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 07:01:83
I started with the opening sentence and let it take me on a journey of absurdity.
What a journey!
What a twist!
Written at UNSW.