It all started with a dream, strangely enough. A dream of better times. A future where the future was already known. A dream where every disaster could be prevented, any death stopped. It was the dream of taking fate into our own hands and molding it into something far better. It was the dream of a perfect world, where no one would ever have to face the unknown.
Alas, it was only a dream, and it slipped out of grasp, our fingers so numb from clinging to it for so long, we couldn't move them in time to break our fall, and we did fall. We fell straight from the clouds that danced in the same sky where we had once soared, and landed face first on the stubborn, pavement below. This pavement did not dance like the clouds, or fly like we once had. It merely made the fall more painful. As it turned out the seers’ predictions couldn't be altered only inforced. So, we did what humans always do when they fall; we looked for someone to blame.
The blame fell upon those that had dreamt up the era of flying. As is so often the case we blamed the ones who had predicted our fall rather than those who had caused it. We yelled, and bickered, pointing fingers at whoever we could, and in the end it was the dreamers that suffered. Those whose dreams had predicted both the rise and fall of this age.
Daily Challenges: A new idea to explore and create each day. Use sound and photos, too!