What would come to pass if the sun, that magnificent, fiery star upon which life thrives, were to vanish?
The forest will shrivel, their withered limbs rising up, reaching for a heaven's love that is now merely a ghost, a hollow whisper. Hope, forever captured in the twisted and gnarled bark. The pure blue hues of the skies and vibrant greens of the earth now a stagnant, listless gray. Parched oceans conceiving vast, empty canyons. Brittle wind, foul with the stench of decaying flesh, screams across this macrocosm. Silence reigns upon this blackened wasteland. Life has ceased to exist, save for one last child, a child forced to become a man.
Eyes tilt toward the heavens in amber askance. An abyss filled with the unimaginable sorrow of the forsaken, a steadfast soul deploring the world for freedom, a tortured soul. Gashes decorate the once fair skin, blood as his only garb. Both hands and feet heavily callused and cracked. Ragged, unkempt strands, sorrel in color, drape across a single, amber eye. The other stares unblinkingly at the sun that is held in those filthy, blood stained, yet somehow pure hands. Golden rays stained with the grit and ash of this grey world spill onto the youth's lap. The ultra violet is dim and glassy, and tear stains are rendered visible by the absence of clay upon the sun's divine face, no doubt the result of the youth's lament. This star has given all that it can, and soon the youth too falls short of breath, the final evanescence.
