Fading Hope
He was tired. All he wanted was to sleep, but he could not, not when so much still had to be done, so much had to be protected. The gardener looked into the starry sky. It was black as everything around him seemed to be. His eyes had not seen light for what seemed like a few weeks. They were weary from the strain of wandering through the dark land to the Crack of Doom, tired of having to go on, straining to keep hold of the hope of returning home afterward. Now, that hope was fading – fading to naught.