A tale:
Once there was a village situated at the feet of a giant mountain. At the top of that mountain lived a hermit who could see the future. Every day a group of people climbed that mountain to talk to the hermit about the events of tomorrow. The hermit had never told anything in straight, but he always gave wise advices to the people coming to him. All thanks to that hermit the village prospered, the crop was rich, the trade was high and health was strong.
But one day even before people could begin climbing the mountain, the hermint had descended to the village. His eyes were filled with sorrow and tears had flown across his face.
"What happened?" asked the villagers.
"Tomorrow," answered the hermit trying to catch his breath, "tomorrow won't come. Ever." And the hushed crowd heard his voice filled with despair: "The world ends. Today is the last day."
Believing the hermit as they've done for almost a century, the villagers believed that the world is coming to an end and threw themselves into what could be called The Last Day. Every man and woman desperately thrived to accomplish something they had desired for their lifetimes, no matter how amoral or illegal. There was chaos, despair, tears and even the slightest glimmers of hope had blackened out.
But once the morning came - the sun had risen once again to continue it's path across the sky. Frustrated villagers became angry with the senile hermit who made them disgrace themselves in "the last day". Enraged the whole population climbed the mountain in hopes of lynching the old man. But all they've found was his cold dead body.
It wasn't his prediction which was wrong, it's the interpretation which was wrong. THe world has ended indeed, but it was only the hermit's world.
End.
This is what happens when one dies - a whole world meets it's end.
