Gold. The streets were supposed to
be paved in gold. The staircases embroidered in pearl, the mansions in silver,
the landscape in emeralds and sapphires. Everything was supposed to be
beautiful and perfect in Zion. Life here was supposed to be miraculous and full
of splendor. Our messiah was supposed to meet us here, give us hope and love and
eternal life in His kingdom.
Blood. Blood and bile is all that
was found in Zion. Our Messiah spat on us and laughed a high pitched screech as
he mocked us in our attempt to meet Him. Religious wars were held in Zion. No
one could be right, everyone could only be wrong, especially when it came to
how to meet Him and receive a part of His grace.
After a millennia, one would think
that this would have ended somehow. But it has not, and it never will. The
streets are paved in blood, the staircases embroidered with the skulls of the
young, the mansions in mud, and the landscape is a hot bright white in the
light, and a dark and deceiving one to behold at night. Zion, birthplace of
religion, gravesite of the religious.
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