ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
THEY USED TO SAY, AT THE END OF THE WORLD, darkness would consume the planet. That it would take home along everything living. All aspects of light. We initially interpreted this end to be something of a burning hell, in which things would rapidly wither away, like it never belonged in the first place.
Though, once it really ended, none of it was true. We were still here, existing within the end. We lived in a world that wasn't truly ours to keep anymore, yet things still remained. People, light, memories. Not everything could be erased, only to be dug up by whatever came after us. Not everything was meant to be buried beneath the surface of rot and decay.
We still remained, I still existed.
The buzzing of cicadas filled the air as I stood knee-deep in an icy stream. I held an empty bottle against the current, the water rushing through the small opening of the canister.
I hadn't needed to pull my boots off and get in, but I'd wanted to. It was natures blessing in the scorching Georgia heat. The river rushed between my feet and rinsed me clean of the aching in my muscles.
Green blossomed from every which direction—a definitive sign that I was fairly deep in the forest. Fig trees wrapped around the creekbed like a blanket of protection, their bushels waving back and forth in the evening breeze. I'd stuffed many of the small fruits in the pockets of my rolled jeans, heavily anticipating the moment I'd be able to bring them back to camp.
Odd enough, in this moment, I remembered a specific Sunday afternoon I'd spent in church years ago. We'd read an excerpt of the Bible where Jesus had damned a fig tree. He'd said, "May no one ever eat fruit from you again!".
This thought made me smile to myself as fruit juice dribbled down my chin. Jesus had just about damned everything else at this point—yet we still stood, bearing our fruits to the world.
That man used to mean everything to me. Now, he was nothing. A false pretender. In this world, I'd gotten to know God and his son, and neither of them cared to help our suffering, like they'd said they would.
