The messenger came from very far away.
He rode through the void bearing our pardon. He passed waterfalls of fire, and snakes greater than rivers, and jungles of green so pure that Rainbow Brite would know envy. And still he rode.
He came in time to the walk, to the march, to the progression of the shadows. They walk through the endless night down to the deepest sea.
They are blind.
They are deaf.
They cannot feel one another. For they are all shadows, and shadows feel as shadows alike.
Each of them says, as he or she walks, “I am lonely. I am empty. I am tired.”
And so they wend their way down to the deepest sea.
It is here that the messenger failed. It is here that the messenger betrayed us, and we may say it is wrong without compunction, for it was wrong even by the messengers’ own code.
He reined in his horse, and he came down.
And he walked among them, each to each, and touched them, and gave them an answer to their loneliness.
And through the long night the shadows wept, and there was something pure and uncompromisingly beautiful in their tears.
But he has not come.
The messenger has not come, and this was wrong, and he knows it is wrong. And that is why the world is not right.
That is why the world can never be right.
That is why the world is not right today.