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.

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