The Painter

"The heavens are dead? I wouldn't go that far," I replied to his question swiftly.

"Then are we forsaken?" He repeated.

"Are we forsaken? No we are in a blessed era," I replied.

"Blessed? How could we be blessed in times where the poor cannot afford to breathe and the rich nonchalantly step on pure gold?" He said with a strange expression.

"So you think a blessed era requires equality? That is not a blessed era but a perfect one, until then the only things men are equal in are death and suffering. If you look at the previous era and imagine the one likely to come, you will find that this imperfect peace is quite the blessing." I retorted.

"This way of thought is…interesting, then what do you think of war?" the man with the hoarse voice asked again.

"War is many things, greed incarnate, suffering, death, and a complete loss, in simple terms it is the worst things about humanity in one, and yet,"

"Yet?"