“Having been born of grief, I think I have long since forgotten the appeal of a life that is empty.” the gravedigger mutters to the lady in white beside him. He plunges his shovel deep into the soil at his feet as he hoists it out of the growing hole he dug. “Or perhaps I have forgotten instead the glamor of a life that is full.” 

The gravedigger pauses his labor as he jabs his shovel firmly into the soil, leaving it there as he leans against it. He wipes a dirty hand across his nose, a sniff briefly escaping. 

“What does that matter though? 

Only perforation, learns us the importance of integrity. 

Only betrayal, learns us the gratifying warmth of loyalty. 

Only in cold blood, do we put to rest the debate of what the self truly has, to wager against fate.”

The expressionless lady simmers in the silence for a moment, her lips parting ever so slightly to offer a reply. With a wave of his hand – crossed atop his shovel – the gravedigger dismisses the reply with a shaking head and a hollow smile. 

“What do your premonitions tell you, Oracle? 

That there will dawn an era man learns to charity compassion, unconditionally? 

That there will arrive a paradise where man learns to foster truth, spoken? 

Perhaps that there will arrive a messiah bathed in purgatory fire, indiscriminate and seeking?   

One they will call in plain terms, “Savior”. 

For they lack the ability to comprehend its nature, true and barren before them. 

One who would in turn utter the words, 

“Nay, I am the destroyer. Come to purge and bury the mistakes of a grief-stricken creator.” ”