Everything stinks. As if something died inside of every entity and has been rotting for centuries. Maybe their decomposition has completed recently. I don’t think their stench has changed for some time. It is the same filth that enters my nose, my lungs, and in the end, my veins.

It might be the beauty in it all that has left the Earth. Every scene seems so ugly, uninviting, disgusting that no one can convince me that beauty is still here. I blame authors and poets. They took all the beauty in the world and selfishly stitched it into their works. Each day the world became paler and their books shone brighter in godly appeal.

We are drawn to beauty like moths to the light. We cannot help it. And when there is no more of it around, what else can we expect of the victim but their escape? Should they have continued to endure a tasteless meal when all the sweets in the world are just a block away? Why fight the smell rising from an army of noise, every single day? If the child wants to skip among lillies all day in their dream, why force upon them your stinking toys?

Your beauty is gone and there is no way to mend it. But you have access to beauty in the form of dreams. Let them live at least. Let the people of the future find some hope, for you have hidden them within pages.