Coronation of a New Year

The nightmarish reign of a ruthless year comes to an end

The New Year strains against the crossed pikes of Yule and December, struggling to gain access to the ancient plaza beyond. “Let her in,” booms a thunderous voice from inside the plaza. Stoic, the sentries slide their weapons apart, permitting her entrance. Her face retaining it’s countenance of determination, she storms swiftly inside.

“What have you done?” she cries before even reaching the center of the courtyard. Prosperity, once over-tended, now lies withered, spilling out of its beds in unruly gnarls. Humanity and ethics lay stunted and shrunken, choked out by prosperity’s overzealous spread and spoiled by toxic self-interest. The stench of death and decay fill the courtyard.

“You’re early,” chides a voice from the shadows of the day. The Old Year slinks into the light, his vile body twisted and bent. Under the Crown of the Age, his grimy hair spills downward, hanging in a tattered curtain around his mottled ears. His knotty knuckles protrude grossly from bony fingers wrapped around a warped staff. “No matter,” he sneers, exposing rotting teeth, “Do you like what I’ve done with the place?”

“You’re a monster!” The New Year bellows with rage.