Once upon a time, a book was written by the author of the world. He wrote about all the splendidness in the world he created. The rolling green fields, the blue sky, flowers filling every space in the meadow. The sun’s reach was never ending; even the darkest cave, and the deepest ocean had the faintest light. The author thought about all the great things his world brought. The forests were evergreen, the reefs were magnificent, it was a truly beautiful world. He was awe and his pride clouded his thought. He created this thing one neither living nor dead. It was vagarious, searching very nook and cranny of the author’s world. It was content with its search, but felt lonely. He grew, but not in size, but numbers. It was cancerous to the author’s world. He finally noticed and squashed the thing out of his world. When he realized the destruction that he and the thing caused it brought him to tears. He was shattered about the loss of his world. But, when a single tear from his face dripped down onto the once beautiful world, a flash of blue spread out over the world. He noticed and with a great determination decided to rebuild his world. He picked up his pencil and made his world anew.