This Is The World
“We’re am I, father?” I ask, looking around at the place we have been transported to.
“Is est locus of quicumque est , eram , quod totus vadum exsisto”
This is the place of all that is, was, and all the shall be.
“But how can this be, father?” I ask, seeing that the field we are in is my family’s farm.
“Vos vadum animadverto, meus parvulus.”
You shall see, my child.
I hear the sound of ringing church bells, and the scenery flashes before my eyes in the field where I spent my childhood years.
I see the grass in the field ripple with the passing of time.
I see the grass wither and die as the house crumbles and is eventually demolished by monstrous carriages with arms that tear apart my family’s house piece by piece.
“No.” I shudder, my eyes glistening with moisture.
Before I can shed a single tear, I see massive, shining buildings sprout from the earth. They are massive and pristine in their glory.
“Father, is this the city of god?” I ask in amazement.
“Nusquam iuxta is.”
Nowhere close to it.