Wandering the world, a million years after its destruction.
Doesn’t that sound exciting? Mystical? Frightening? Could you even imagine what the end of the world is like? Of course not. How could you? You’ve never been there. Never felt the horror of watching your world crumble. An always changing world, always developing, getting crushed under the weight of one catastrophe.
You probably can’t even imagine what it looks like.
No buildings, no sky scrapers, no bright white clouds against a light blue, never ending sky.
Under all beautiful paintings there started a white canvas. If you draw a sketch, a beautiful sketch, covering the entire page in nothing but wonderful paints, shades of green, brilliant reds and marvelous blues. What happens if you add water and all the color washes away, what’s left?
The very damp beginning. The white of the page, damp and tinted from the colors that had graced it before. A shadow of its former, marvelous, self. That’s all there is now.