Just another day in the nightmare landscape, the rugged rocky hills, and the prophet by my side. We climbed day and night, meeting with the sages and thieves in their torn rags, who gave us water to drink and food for our souls.
We are on a spiritual journey to discover who killed the Master of the Universe. It was the defining crime of our era, and perhaps all of humanity. When the bullet exploded through his head, spraying the cabin room with blood, brain, and sinew, the gaping chasm in the center of the Universe killed half the population.
The prophet looks up
The sky turns blood red and hot
We run to the cave
We surely did not see this coming. The Universe is unraveling. Who did this? Who killed the Master and brought this doom upon us? The prophet laughs like a madman, knowing we will die very soon. He says the prayers that his father taught him many centuries ago. Then he drinks the rest of our water, and he bows down before the false idol in the cave.
There’s no time left for us. I think of my dead family – the ones lost to the great chasm. I think of the remaining seconds of humanity. I think of our whole stupid human enterprise as like an anthill seen from space. I think of the histories of the emperors, conquerors, civilizations, saints, religions – all ground to dust.
I hold my icon close to my heart, then I mumble this prayer to myself:
God’s will be done now
Forgive us for our trespasses
Do not forsake us
(Photo by Solen Feyissa on Unsplash)
