8.18

Marshmallows. I've built my kingdom of them, and now the fire threatens to destroy all my work. Soon, a thick slime will spread over the heaths and heathers, moors and mountains, woods and wilds, glades and glens (though they're the same thing), vales and . . . valleys (the same thing again? I'm running out). . . and all topographical structures in between.
The land will be whitewashed by sugarslides. Animals both great and small will be caught in stasis, struggling futilely to escape my hubris. Moose will bray wildly to their partners, ten feet and an impossibility away. Rabbits will be moored to a spot, and the hawk who tries to fly away with an easy prey will find his pinions slowly and furtively ripped away by the bubbling goop. The wolf will waste away within sight of nutriment. Porcupines will fill their quills with the sugary concrete. Platypus will lay their eggs to die in the crush. Pandas will never find a bamboo shoot again. Capybara--but you get my point.
Many a youngster will gorge themselves on the feast, first with hands, then with shovels. Soon, they, too, will be trapped (by obesity, the greedy pigs). Diabetics will die of shock. Everybody else will become diabetic.

Marshmallow will be everywhere.

Soon, the world will suffer a second ice age because the white of the marshmallow will reflect all sunlight directed at it. The sea levels will drop as all the water freezes to the mallow shell, trapping everything underneath. The goo will freeze and form an immobile second crust, preventing all movement of the earthy crust below. The friction and force exerted by the tectonic shift will be forced through volcanic rifts, and a quaternary crust over the earth, mallow, and ice. A googol of years shall pass, and yet life will not bloom anew. Aliens will drill for core samples and find their drills gummed up. The earth will simmer and die.

I will be the cause of the apocalypse.
I'm sorry.