The Prophet Is Dead! God Damn The Prophet! (Photo Essay)

Behold, seven years of great abundance are coming in all the land of Egypt;
and after them seven years of famine will come,
and all the abundance will be forgotten in the land of Egypt,
and the famine will ravage the land.

Inside the grain silos was life. Nowhere else could it be found, neither from above or below. Beyond that is only suffering. Men lose their minds and women wail with children's deaths. There can be no escape.

The granaries of Egypt were legendary; massive and large, touching the sky. Egypt, in all her glory, claimed life. Who in the world could compare to her belief? Who else scaled the walls of truth? Let her dedication stand as a monument to the world.

In the heady years of plenty, tomorrow became a myth never to come. Why shouldn't it last forever? Who is the Prophet to tell us what to do? Life is unforeseeable, the future unknown. No man can claim it. If we can make riches today, why not tomorrow?

Plays written to mock the Prophet received hearty applause. "Laugh at this 'man of doom'! He fears the sun not to rise in the morning and the sky to fall at night!" As each day of plenty passed, slander and scorn for the prophet increased in proportion to their greed. "Greed is good!"

After seven years to the day, the sky turned color, too late for repentance. On judgment day no recourse resides, the die is cast. What worked yesterday no longer works today. The crops do not rise, the rain does not drop. Solutions are sought high and low but the search is in vain. Yes, tomorrow comes, after all.

But who could the faultless people blame for their predicament? "It's the curse of the Prophet! He did this to us! He attacked us for our ways - ways he could not follow. Why should we have to pay for his sin?" And thus they cleansed themselves of their sins - if not their hunger.

The last grains gone, the great silos stood in silent mockery of the myopic masses. Who knew decisions had consequences? Why had no one helped them? The Prophet had refused to hear them in the time of plenty. He hogged the truth for himself.

"He must pay for blinding us and stuffing our ears so we could not hear. Must we be perfect? Is mercy nowhere to be found?" But they had determined their own mercy, as merciless as their raids upon the silos taking every last grain when they had not the need.

What is truth? Does it even exist? Can life and death be the same? When children asked what happened, the adults replied, "Mystery." Who can explain such events? With eyes firmly shut, men in high councils debated what color the sky. The exchanges were heated. "Lives are at stake! We cannot live in famine forever!"

Unable to face the truth, their minds melted into mayhem. Many clever arguments were made but faded in the passing of time; no honest argument considered clever. Mystery! Where could they place their trust? Some prayed in the silos for grain to magically appear. And why not with the answer to their woes unknowable? One thing they did know with vicious clarity: hang the Prophet high.

At the end of the years of famine, it came to be the Prophet was hailed by the new generation. "Wisdom" and "Insight" were holy words to be revered. Competition spread across the land in the name of finding those most honest and true. What fools the people of yore!

But the grain - well, the grain knew the truth already. When a truly honest man suggested some be put away for the pitfalls of tomorrow, he was reviled without mercy. "Why should we do that? We are a smarter people now. To say we are not is to dishonor the Prophet. I kill you in the name of the good Prophet!"