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In those first years the roads were peopled with refugees shrouded up in their clothing. Wearing masks and goggles, sitting in their rags by the side of the road like ruined aviators. Their barrows heaped with shoddy. Towing wagons or carts. Their eyes bright in their skulls. Creedless shells of men tottering down the causeways like migrants in a feverland. The frailty of everything revealed at last. Old and troubling issues resolved into nothingness and night. The last instance of a thing takes the class with it. Turns out the light and is gone. Look around you. "Ever" is a long time. But the boy knew what he knew. That "ever" is no time at all...
...Query: How does the never to be differ from what never was?...
...He thought that in the history of the world it might even be that there was more punishment than crime, but he took small comfort from it.
Originally posted by IAmD1
It is what it is.