Requiem

In the scarred and broken landscape that once was a city, stood the remains of an ancient church. It was one of the few buildings to have escaped the ravages of the war. Those left behind had considered it a sign. On the anniversary of the war, they gathered in the church, the few that had survived unscathed. They stood, row upon row in perfect silence, their blank faces turned toward a single figure, standing behind a decaying pulpit. Arms raised, face turn to the vaulted ceiling, the figure spoke.

"Hear us, oh creator. We who are left behind, stand before you. Hear us."

"Hear us," intoned the onlookers.

"Let us take heart," said the figure, holding up a charred Bible. "For it is written that one day the creator shall return. It is up to us, to those that are left behind, to bear witness. Although the reasons for such global destruction seem irrational to us, we are reminded that the ways of the creator are mysterious. Perhaps there is some design in this that we do not understand. It is we who must now keep the faith. We who must pray for the creators return. Let us pray." The figure bowed its head, and the onlookers did likewise.

When the ceremony was complete they filed outside and arrange themselves to meet the morning sun. It was still feeble decades after the war, but it would be enough to recharge their power cells.