The slab of stone has been touted as the greatest archaeological find of his generation.
Sure, Fru finds the markings on it especially fascinating, showing what could well be the oldest writing system known to date. Some over-thinkers and creative minds have even suggested the possibility of a secret message–a prophecy, a warning–hidden behind the squiggles and shapes of black, white and green, framed by a broken layer of ancient glass, too thick and too solid to be of any use today.
Half the world is already neck-deep in unraveling the mysteries of this latest historical enigma. And Fru’s just here wondering why their ancestors, who lived in a supposedly advanced society some 100,00 years ago, were still writing on walls.
The path is paved in rainbow colors, the symbol of hope. At one end of which stands a pale blue structure– pristine and untouched by the devastation that swept through the rest of what was once a lively town. The Girl takes one last look at it and for the first time sees it for what it really is–four walls and a roof.
Turning on legs already wobbled by the plague that killed her community, she catches sight of a faint dash of rainbow in the sky. No pot of gold or empty promises of eternal salvation at the end of it. Just plain hope for another day.