Drifting in the afternoon sun, a few miles from the place where the stars had fallen, the birds and the flowers that had died before the rising of the sun still lay buried in the earth.
The world was still.
A man sat alone on the beach, waiting.
His name was Ezekiel, and he was the only one left alive.
There were many times in his life that he had wondered about his purpose, and there were many times when he had asked himself if he had done everything he was supposed to do.
He had always known that it was his destiny to find the next prophet of the great god Osiris, and to teach him all that he knew about the power of the god.
He had also known that it was his destiny to be chosen by the god to bring him a new bride, to prepare her for her life as a wife of the god.
He had done his best to live up to his destiny.
He had been a good man.
He had been a righteous man.
He had lived by the laws of his god.
He had been a good husband, a good father, a good son.
He had always tried to live a life that was good.
But what did that really mean?
To what end did a man try to live a good life?
He had no idea.
He had always had an unanswered question burning in his mind.
He had always felt that he had not done enough.
But what did it matter what he had done?
The world was over.
The world had fallen.
The earth had cracked, and the sky had broken open, and the sun was falling.
The stars had fallen.
The flowers had fallen.
The birds had fallen.
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