Night time came, and the world stood still. Time it self felt unreal.

The moon h anged high in the sky, and its moonlight kepts its watchful eye on the poor crea ture. The trees weeped, weeds dispersed, from the looks of the surrounding one w ould think that the land had been crused. There center stage, at the epicenter, the cause of the natural disater. The majestic bird stood there, with the dagger in hand. The world wept, for it knew what was next. The air was heavy, and desp air filled the soul with each breath that was inhaled. The blazing passion that was once in the phoenix's eyes was now replaced with a void of nothingness, a bl ackhole from which light could not escape took its place. Its firy red-orange fe athers, now dulled maroon, anguished with self pity and shame. The phoenix look up at the moon as the moon cried in the silent, darkness of the night; hiding it s tears, scattering them across the sky to look like stars. The world knew what was next. The phoenix felt cornered, left without a choice. Isolated, exiled by his peers, overwelmed by the anxieties that come with the solitude, he pluggeds the dagger into his chest. With no regret, he falls to his death. But accursed i s he for he shall rise again.