Feeling myself disintegrate.
Odd. Just plain odd.
The song plays… and what comes to mind?
Troops of unsmiling, red, shiny robots, numbering close to a thousand, swaying left and right on their metal feet, giving off soft tinkle tinkle sounds – as though a three-year-old were experimenting cautiously with the bars of a newly-found musical instrument; a xylophone, for instance. The small squares on the robots’ bodies light up for a moment, then steadily blink of colours yellow, then green; green, then yellow; yellow then blue – like a chessboard gone horribly wrong.
The machines’ movements are slow at first; then, as though having thoroughly warmed up, their motions progressively gain enough momentum, making them become a reddish blur of sorts. Tipping dangerously on their metal feet with the same tinkle tinkle rhythm, the robots continue with the incessant yet annoying sounds that now seem to have been successfully and permanently etched onto your brain.
Left and right, left and right. Blink, blink, blink. Fast.
All this while, the small, squarish openings on their expressionless faces have only been mouthing the words. But now, you can hear them quite clearly: the words “with all your power” are repeated monotonously, tirelessly, to a crescendo…
Left and right, left and right. Blink, blink, blink. Faster, and faster.
Then comes a brilliant clap of thunder, and smoke envelops the air around you. The dust gradually settles; a fizzle here, a crackle there. Bzzt bzzt. Flicker. Hiss.
But they are all gone, having taken to the sky.