Our Fate, their hands.

Eerie light illuminated the inky skies, pallid and wan.

Twin figures approached, hunched and ancient. Foetid viscous liquid lapped the shore; oozing and undulating sickeningly, an overpowering odour of rotted fish. Ahead, a warped coastline wove sinuously, symmetrically impossible. In the murky distance, a city loomed; cyclopean, monolithic, maddening.

They sat, greeting each other with a weird burbling guttural sound that could be laughter.

The brothers exchanged gifts. Glowing orbs of green and blue, white floating over.

Year on year they put them away and thanked the other. Exchanged, but never used.

Standing slowly, nodding, parting ways.

....perhaps next year