A man stands alone in the square. Rubble and ruins of civilization lay strewn around him. There is no wind to cool his face; no songs from birds to fill his ears, no perfume of flowers to fill his nose. Dust and ash, splinters and shrapnel are all that is left.
He witnessed it all. The burning of books; the rending of art; the defiling of churches; the loss of knowledge as the world went mad.
The fire consumed everything. Mother, daughter; Father and son. No one was spared.
Centuries of achievements lost for eternity. Nothing left but rubble and dust.
There are no tears, no sobs, no shouts of anger; just silence. The man knows the depth of his crime. The evidence lay before and surrounds him.
It wasn’t the gun in his hand, nor the bullet that fired out of its barrel that caused the world to end.
It was the hate in his heart, the narrowness of his vision, and the lack of faith in the system created by his ancestors that he let loose upon the world to cause it’s destruction.
Now he stands alone with no one to share, nor no one to grow.
Only silence and a shovel to bury the dead.