Unto the seventh generation

“And these statues?”
“We think they represent gods, or other figures of worship. There’s so much we don’t know.”

They stumbled through the rubble and the wreckage, of this large building complex, left behind when humanity reached for the stars.

Personal recording devices captured and relayed everything across the vastness. No-one had set foot here for hundreds of years.

“What does this say?” The illuminated letters spoke in a long dead tongue.
“I don’t know. We can find out later. It’s probably Latin.” Ancient letters. “B-i-b-”

It’s the 31st century, and the ruins of the Vatican are now historical curiosity. Its collection of faith, facts and history now lost to the millennium hand of Time.

“I think I found it!”

The archaeologist dropped the large paper book he was flicking through and ran towards his excited colleague. In the room beyond, lay a vast sculpture of glass.
“That’s it. ‘The Tears of the Children’.”

Of all the things to survive and be remembered for, this was their legacy. And penance.

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