One day, I heard a cry that rang out over the seas.
“The Great Pan is dead”, went the cry, and I knew that I had died. When I died, the world order changed, and i felt it in the breeze. I felt it in the disappearing glades. I felt it in the drying grass. I felt it in the crumbling mountains, and the silence of the rivers.
“The Old Order must die“, said some people. “We believe in ordered systems, and these old pagan rites must die. These symbols of rampant, earthy sexuality must die, and we must cloak ourselves in the grey garb of morality. We must teach others how to live, the rules they must obey. We shall construct great mansions for them, and we shall make toys for them, to keep them happy. We shall rule over a new world order, and it shall obey our desire. Nature must be bent to suit our whim, our ambition, our desire. This is the New World Order, and it shall be good.”
I heard these voices at the time of my death, and in the years since. I have watched as the world has changed, as great columns of black smoke have risen in the sky. I have watched as the forests and the mountains have made way for the great advance of civilisation. My time, I knew, was over. And so, it was better for me to die. I would have been out of place in this new world. My time, was over.
My time was over, for the moment.
Centuries have passed since I died. Many things have changed. Yet, the wind is changing. It will take centuries I think, before it will change.
But, I shall be reborn. My time will come again.
The rivers will once again sing their song, and the clean breeze shall blow. The mountains will rise again, and the trees and grasses will spread throughout the land. Animals shall live in harmony once more, and the Old Order shall be established one more time.
Wait for my coming, for the rebirth of Pan.
For this last challenge, I have nominated a young lady who calls herself A Wandering Story Teller. Let’s see if she takes up the challenge.