There was once an Empire of Malady, ruled by a King of Unintended Consequences. The capital of the Empire was the Province of Absurdity. The people who lived in this Province ate their meals laced with tiny increments of poison, and the poison seeped into their psyches, into their identities. As a result, their decisions were poisonous. Their dreams smelled of impending death. They dreamt of a different time that never really existed. They just believed that it did, because the poison flowed through their nerves and made them unconsciously absorbed in the ruinous work of nostalgia. They were a selfish folk, and had to offset any decisions made by the King of Unintended Consequences. Decisions that would affect them in good ways and in bad ways. But they never knew which would come first. And every decision led to a stalmate. To status quo. At the center of the Province of Absurdity was a volcano. The volcano was always smouldering. The volcano didn't understand how fragile people are, how tiny and scared. How easily their skin burns. The citizens of the Empire of Malady prayed to the God of the volcano. They begged him to hold off his punishment. They pleaded with him, negotiated with him, appeased him, without realizing that death was already within them, waiting, waiting, like a ticking time bomb. The joke was on them. Only the volcano knew this.