The date was 6/6/06. It was a long time ago. My memory has worsened since. I can only vaguely recall the taste of drumstick ice cream paid for with paper from moving wagons without horses.
Don’t believe me? There was a time when man used nature to empower himself, when we walked amongst the stars, pictures could move, and everyone was informed of what was happening across the earth at any moment.
This was before that day of final destiny, before June 6th, 2006, before we were left here as judgment.
I scrawl this note now on paper made in the style of the ancients. Crushed plants have formed the base. I am still using a mechanical pencil—raided from one of the overgrown convenience stores.
I write in the simple language of English in hopes that there will be a time when others will gain from knowing about the beginning, the end, that day. I can only pray—though it does very little good now—that there comes a time when man is returned to the Garden that Was.
I should start from that day. Instead, I will start from the night before.
This is my final testament, my last scrawled note, may it help me find peace.
I am Gray, Lord of the Park.
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