(This is something odd. I enjoy writing short stories dealing with the death of planets and the end of existence from the perspective of a nameless person. I figured, in some random act by myself, to turn this nameless person into an actual character, and in my infinite arrogance, believe it is so awesome I simply must share it.)

An Introduction

All great and good things must come to an end.
The great civilizations of the ancient world such as Greece and Rome.
The raging fire that lights up the night sky so brilliantly, reduced to nothing but gray, useless ash.
The powerful love felt for many years between a man and woman, cut short by cruel mortality.
And like so many of these things must the old, stagnant and shameful world share such fate.

I have witnessed the life, death and rebirth of so many worlds.
I stood amidst a panic-stricken crowd as great and terrible balls of fire streaked from the heavens,
musing on how those glowing bodies could so brilliantly contrast against the darkness of the sky.

I stood atop the bronze lady who once overlooked two great towers, watching the great waves
roll in and wash the terrible history of the city away, as dark clouds, brilliant lightning and terrible thunder
chimed in like a terrible chorus, singing the sad story of yet another failed existence straining this poor planet.

I was with and amongst soldiers, in who's hardened gaze bore witness to the terrible sciences of the earth;
mushroom clouds vaporizing hopes and dreams, terrible clouds that brought blisters and burns to the skin,
an unseen pestilence spreading through the land, and the cries and shrieks of a mother who held the limp doll-like
body of what was her daughter in her arms, screaming at me in some terribly pained, foreign language.

I have since become the silent witness, bred in destruction and as such, immune to such a fate.
In sympathy I have held the limp hands of the dying, who lay in the ruins of what once were great cities.
I had taken more note of the resemblance of support beams, twisted and scraping at the sky, as if taking up
the lamentations of a dying people, throwing them at some unseen and unproven deity.
And he stands before them, callous and unmoving.

The Sadness of it All...

Thousands, even millions of years, sometimes.
All snuffed out in a second in terms of cosmic time.
Billions of untold stories and unknown faces, callously dead before birth,
as if fate took the knife to their own mother's wombs.
The crying of loved ones, and the knowledge they will
become nothing but a memory, soon to fade away to time.

And yet...

...There is no true end.
Merely hope, children, that there will always be renewal.
Look the fate of destruction in it's ugly face, and when it gloats about
the tears flowing down your cheeks, hold your head up high and say:
"These tears flowing down my cheeks are tears of joy, for the inevitable
fate of destruction will always bring the glorious reward of renewal."