The Canonist
MT Fallon

When the structure collapsed, we saw how hollow it had become. Feeding on itself, nourished by its inner core. We walked through the ruins, sifting and sorting. A man holding up tatters, a woman calling out names. We sifted and sorted. One by one the others turned into the outland, scattering across the barren. I took a few smaller pieces and set them in a place. I was not going to leave. I could see what I was collecting would be enough.