Look On My Works, Ye Mighty, And Despair!

Look at this _mess_.

Look at all those hollow skeletons.

Look at all those burning buildings.

Look at all those vacant cars.

The overturned school buses.

The broken windows.

The cracked pavement.

The smoggy air.

The distant booms.

The not-so-distant screams.

Just look at all those books, whose words have been burnt from their pages.

And the paintings that have lost all their meaning.

And the monuments whose memory has been desecrated.

Oh, and don't forget the people. The aimless, hopeless, disillusioned masses, who have used up their capacity for any emotion that could befit compassion or belief or hope or...or..._love_.

Look at what is left of your creation. Make yourself, _force_ yourself to look, and to feel the complete and utter devastation of your world.

Now ask yourself just one question, and consider the ramifications of it:

Wouldn't it have been best to give them unquestionable *proof* of your existence, instead of leaving it all to unquestionable *faith*?