Talk:Short Stories/@comment-92.13.228.30-20120908204324

I stood atop my mainland mountain, the cool spring afternoon's breeze whistling through the peaks nearby, and tousling my hair gently.

How ironic, that in the month in which life should begin, my nation ended.

My last remaining member had just left the game, for unspecified reasons, and I had been left amongst his castello and keep. He had told me to retool it all, for fear of it being deleted when he left, even though he'd transferred it all to me. So I retooled most of it, not having enough time otherwise. Then when he left, all the things he'd given me left too, apart from the castle walls, and the mess left behind by his hens. What a sight it was, my friend, how quickly my nation came crashing down on itself, not through destruction of hostiles, or through the dreaded wall of bomb-o-pults, but through a frantic retooler and a solitary remaining member.

I thought to myself "At least I still have my beautiful gardens, my beautiful Hanging Gardens."

When I climbed the mountain, they had been turned into corn fields by my last member, instead of the place of peace and tranquility; the herb garden of God. It... was truly over.

And now that brings me to me standing here, atop the Gardens, with my trusty flint and steel in hand, and little determination left to rebuild anything. So I set alight to the few planks holding the gardens to the mountainside, and sat on the grass as I tumbled from the cliffside into the swirling torrents of the ocean.

~ The End