It's An Old Story, And A Simple Story, Really, When You Boil It Right Down

Shit blew up and shit fell down. The wind raged for days and it rained for weeks on end.

The water rose and swept stuff away. When the water finally receded, the sun broke through the clouds and the clouds dissipated and the sun blazed like an angry thing and the river evaporated and the earth turned to dust. The dust was carried on the wind that once again ceaselessly raged.

The news was an endless recitation of calamity. Everywhere there were eruptions of senseless violence and the clash of impotent armies. The hearts and hopes of many old lovers withered.

In the midst of all this gloom a fierce contagion broke out, and in the public spaces of the cities bodies were stacked like cordwood. Those who tried to flee sent back word that there was so safe harbor, no refuge left to escape to.

There were also, of course, tremendous conflagrations, and much was destroyed, and there was widespread famine and many starved and perished.

Yet throughout all this horror and heartbreak, neither heedless man nor vengeful god managed to extinguish the stars, and upon the stars wishes were still made, and from those wishes dreams were born, and in those dreams hope was sown, and out of that hope love was kindled, and through that love man once again learned to live.