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Last DayThe sun rose over the field. This would be the Last Time. The golden father burned away at the mist, which clung like phantom tendrils to the ground. The silence was unnaturally thick...impenetrable. Nothing dared break it. No whisper of a breeze disturbed the blades of grass. No creature trod upon the ground. No insect cut the stillness of the air. As the orb of fire overhead laboriously climbed to its peak, it bore down with an intensity that surpassed even the passions of men. It beat down like some angry war god, bent on utter domination. Stillness, even yet, refused to be broken. And the daystar began the long, slow, descent into night.Last Day
by ~schrodingersroot
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"And I believe that a blade of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars."
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