Basil sat sternly, which was unusual for him.
"Tell me about the end of the world," he said.
Her heart was as heavy as lead.
She was lead. Her thoughts were lead.
"Was it my people who did it?" Basil asked.
"We are all the same people," she said. "We all did it."
There was a great war. It took the lives, all of them, in one way or another.
Some went underground, some above it,
some stayed where they were while their hearts melted into ice.
There was nothing left.
"Surely, there must have been something left," he protested.
"I mean, here we are in this land of milk and honey."
He saw hope. Basil the Saint of long ago.
He who prayed and stared down Ivan the Terrible.
"You know, he didn't think he was terrible,"
Basil said and made her laugh.
He continued, "So what happened?"
She explained the war and the aftermath.
"It had been going on for a long time. Men had forgotten God. All, many, had looked so far away that they could not even remember there had been a Creator. The war was fought in His absence. Bombs did not do this. All of this destruction was the result of turning away from Him. All of it."
Basil nodded.
"And what happened next?"
"We saw God again. We saw Him!"
Basil nodded.
It was hard for her to comprehend,
but somehow everything falling away had turned out to be good.
