The world would end if he didn’t reach his destiny, they said. So he ran. He bore the saving truth as a flag to his chest over hills and mountains, through creeks and rivers. His path was difficult, but he didn’t give up, he ran. When he arrived, the world hadn’t ended yet, so he assumed he was in time to save it. He was wrong. He had brought the wrong truth. He would be the first to die, they said. “Doesn’t the effort count,” he asked. The answer was a slashing sound, his head, a ball on the floor.