It was the cawing of a bird in mourning on the bitter winds of winter that permeated all of existence that day. The living, the dead, and the soul of nature herself sat silently frozen in the face of a grief beyond comprehension. It was a sorrow, perhaps, only to be understood by a witness to civilization’s end.
Time, as it was, and as it ever will be, moved forward. A respectful stasis was not allowed — every individual had their own troubles to allay. The dead were to be buried. The living were to be breathing, and their hands would not be warmed by…
