The Reapers

Trouble treads carefully. They know what will happen if the other Reapers catch them here. There’s too much at stake, they think to themself. I have to keep the dream alive. The risk is worth it. Crawling to the top of a shallow rise, Trouble looks over the swaying

“Fox, do you think there is a place beyond these fields?” the phantom had asked one day, a time long before Reapers had dominated the Golden Fields. “I’ve spent my entire life here and haven’t found an edge,” the fox had answered, eyes glinting with something sharp and

At long last I came to the Golden Fields. I expected feelings of relief and fulfillment, but instead felt a gnawing hunger. A Reaper approached me and handed me a scythe. Reaper: Welcome, Watcher. We have long expected you. With this tool you can reap to your heart’s content.

I’ve been gone for a time, fellow travelers, wandering the aether. From irrational beginnings, we take our first steps into strange worlds. Pieces of ourselves can be found strewn about. We struggle for meaning. The journey continues… Meaning is a marathon. It is nurtured, found in fragments not wholes.