all is as all was

all is as all was

August 20, 2025

For AMR

Professor Ford watched in the far distance as the mushroom cloud subsided to tolerable levels for viewing and intolerable levels for all other adjacent activities.

The stars resumed their twinkle in the night sky, provided anyone was left to see the sparkle.

He romanticized all that he endured prior to this moment. He romanticized all that he might expect from this moment on. He was accustomed to being incorrect on all things in the “ago”. He needed to extend this premonition to the future tense.

“There,” said the voice. Professor Ford vaguely remembered reading that line somewhere, sometime. So famous, so vague, that anyone might have spoken it. When he felt the tip of the spear against his head, such thoughts of formatting became superfluous.

“Who are you?” began the next two hours of conversation with the remnants of what might have been a small group of people with a purpose. Professor Ford listened to their demands, later concerns, then finally interests as he walked with the armed group to their upwind encampment.

One cup of water and the Professor took his leave to sleep away the nightmare of what he previously witnessed.

By morning, almost as a tribal council, the group woke Professor Ford and escorted him to the cave’s entrance. Here, the elder sat the Professor down at a makeshift table provided with paper, pencils, and a lantern. Here, he began a tale of magic and mystery.

“Once, our group was at peace with nature and ourselves. It remained that way until the blind prophet arrived. He took shelter in the cave for the night. Before he exited in the morning, he carved a prophecy on the inner wall. He enchanted it. He told all who would listen that what he wrote was a warning of events yet to come. He spoke of the end of civilization. He told of death by fire and its cold embrace forever after. He also said that he who reads the prophecy will make the words true. They would also make the words disappear forever. Only by not knowing what he cast will what he cast never come to fruition. Then, he left, never to return, never to be seen again. That was forty years ago. Since then, no one may enter the cave. None shall read what is written. None shall know so all shall live. Until last night. Last night, we all saw the fire. Today, we hear of the cold covering what used to be. A million perished because one might have entered. Our group is not well-learned as those who used to live afar (he pointed to the ruins of the city). We need you to enter, but not read. We need you to write what is written without seeing what is written. We need you to tell us his words. We need to know if this is the end of days. Can you do this?”

Professor Ford found the elder’s message both cryptic and enticing. He had the air of an intellectual and the hands to match. Not a blemish visible on either. I remember him stroking his small beard, posed in deep thought. If this was for his own or for the sake of others, that debate remains to this day. It took nearly ten minutes before he rose and accepted the terms of entry.

A few of ours smiled. A few more did not. If the old man was a prophet of doom, what awaited the Professor would be as terminal as what we witnessed yesterday. If the old man was not, then what we would learn could be no more fearful than what we currently feared.

Professor Ford gathered his tools, lit the lamp, and began his journey into the cave. He returned soon after with the papers folded nicely, ready for presentation.

He bore no look of anguish or injury. He remained focused on his professional training. That is what my people all saw. What I saw was the small smirk of someone who knew something others did not.

Sitting back at the table, Professor Ford said he did not read the words, but he has them written on the papers. What the old man wrote still remained. His words still hold their magic. If no one enters the cave, no one will break the enchantment. All is as all was.

With that, he set the well worn pencils on the neatly folded papers. He lifted the lamp to make sure that he extinguished the fire, setting the lamp on the table. Professor Ford gathered what few belongings he had, said his goodbyes, and began his walk into the sunset, away from the ruins of the city he must have once lived.

No one ever saw Professor Ford again.

However, it was only a minute before all in attendance wanted to read the enchanted words on the paper. All wanted the honor, but none wanted the risk. It was an awkward pause before the elder selected me to read the papers. Everyone was in agreement. If I died, no big loss.

With trepidation, I reached for the papers. With even more hesitation, I unfolded the first, holding it up to read.

And then laughed, again, and again.

Each page did hold a prophecy of importance. Once we all read each page, we all understood.

Professor Ford did not read the words. In the dark, he placed the papers over the carvings of the words and used the pencils to create rubbings. In this way, the paper held the rubbings of the words, but not the actual words. We could read the words, without reading the words. The magic remains, with the old man’s words for all eternity.

We never saw another fire over the land. We never encountered another cold embrace afterward. When I reached the age of ascension, I became the leader of our people. Guided by the words no one (actually) could read, but did, we successfully grew into more than the sum of our parts.

So what did the papers say?

They are indeed prophecies, enhanced by magic in every way possible.

My first rule as leader was to leave them that way forever.