The small picture was as weathered and worn as the hands that held it. Tired gray eyes gazed down upon the photo, stained and wrinkled from years of abandonment.  On the paper's surface there was harbored an image of a lush green field that stretched endlessly into a delightful sunset, dotted with wildflowers here and there. There was a single tree that twisted up from the soil, emerging with an unnamed pride and beauty.

The image was reflected in the vision of the old man as he remembered the days of his youth. The days when he would awaken to feel golden rays of sunlight spill over his face. The days when he would walk the streets of his hometown and be greeted with kindness and respect. The days when the world was beautiful and filled with peace.

The man looked up from the old photo and was met by a face staring back at him from a mirror, thick with grime. He studied his reflection, noting his sickly complexion, his receding white hair, the deep circles creeping around his eyes. This was not the face he remembered. This was not the life he once had the pleasure of living.

In his younger years, he lived in a decent house with a loving family. Now, he hobbled about a creaky shack on the outskirts of a gray and dreary village. His tiny bed coughed dust into the air every time he laid down to rest. His thin blankets were littered with holes from the occasional nibbling moth. His cupboards held nothing but cobwebs and his aching stomach was just as empty.

His frail heart longed to be filled with joy, but he knew he would never feel it until he passed into death. Only then would he find rest and happiness in a life beyond the one he so painfully knew. He couldn't remember what it felt like to laugh or even to smile. There was no joy in this place, no contentment. There was no light that could lead him out of the darkness.

The sound of a door creaking, barely clinging onto its hinges, drew his attention away from the mirror. Looking over his boney shoulder, he laid his eyes upon a small boy entering the room. As he gazed at the young one, standing so innocently against the bleak world outside, he realized that perhaps there was a light in the darkness. It didn't matter how small or how fragile it was. He knew that the light was still there. It came to him in the form of a child; resilient and bright.

"Shut the door, my boy." The old man said in a surprisingly strong voice for his age. "It's best to keep the cold out there where it belongs." The child nodded, his little nose and mouth hidden behind a tattered blue scarf. He turned and pushed the door with two hands,  both blue from the merciless winds, until it was closed. Then he trotted over to the older man, his eyes bright against his dirty face. He tugged at his scarf and coat until they were in a bundle on the floor at his feet.

The older man grabbed the boy's hands firmly in his own, rubbing them quickly to get the blood flowing again. "Nathaniel, how many times have I told you not to go out without your gloves." The wrinkled man said, concerned.

"S-s-sorry, grandpa." The boy stammered through chattering teeth. "I was in a big hurry this m-morning."

"Well, it's about time you learned your lesson." The grandfather stated. "You're going to need those hands of yours in order to survive, understand? The Blight has made the world a very dangerous place." He looked at the boy carefully.

"Yes, Grandpa Ryker." Nathaniel murmured softly, lowering his round, gray eyes to the floor. The shack was silent for a few moments until the child perked up. He bent down and dug into his coat pocket, pulling out a red, slightly round object, grasping it as if it were as fragile as glass. He held it out to his grandfather, allowing him to see it.

"An apple?" The old man asked, astonished. "How in the world did you come by this, Nathan?"

"I bought it." The boy answered cheerfully. "I earned 10 coins by working for a couple of the villagers. I remembered you talking about how red apples were your favorite treat at Christmas time. So...Merry Christmas, grandpa!" Nathaniel held the apple out to his grandfather as if he were awarding him a trophy.

Mr. Ryker took the fruit into his hands, gaping. "You made 10 pieces working on your own and..."He paused, still trying to wrap his mind around his grandson's generosity. "And you spent it on a gift for me?"

The child nodded, grinning. "I hope you like it."

"My boy," Mr. Ryker began, his eyes twinkling with warmth. "I couldn't ask for anything better." He reached out wrapped his arms tightly around Nathaniel's neck, pulling him close. After their brief embrace, the older man said, "How about we cut it up and eat it for Christmas dinner?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically and then helped his grandfather to his feet. He stayed closed to the older man as they took small steps towards the table. After Mr. Ryker was seated, Nathaniel pulled a knife out of his pocket and gave it to his grandfather. The old man took the blade into a frail hand and held the apple with another. For a long moment, the knife hovered shakily a few inches above the fruit. Nathaniel waited patiently for his grandfather to slice the apple until he realized that his hands were trembling too much. The child reached out and gently grabbed the older mans hand, guiding it down steadily until the knife cut into the juicy flesh of the apple.

The two halves tipped over and thudded lightly upon the splintered surface of the table. Each of them took a piece and then the boy moved to the seat opposite of his grandfather. They both lowered their heads respectfully, hands folded neatly in their laps.

"Hear our prayers, Lord," Mr. Ryker began softly. "For we are tired and our faith is small in these troubled days. Please bless this family and keep young Nathaniel strong for the years to come. Thank you for this food that we are about to partake of, for it will give us strength and happiness, if only for a little while. Please keep and guide us in your ways, for it is a wicked world we live in, and you are the only steadfast refuge that we can seek. I know my time will come soon, so my one desire is that you watch over my grandson..."He paused as he choked on a sob. Nathaniel glanced up, his eyes glistening with tears as his grandpa continued, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I ask that you bless him and his generation, for they are our only hope of redemption and salvation. Amen."

"Amen." The boy echoed quietly. The two of them ate their apples in silence, relishing the sweet taste of the food. When they were finished they leaned back in their chairs, content but not satisfied.

"Well," Mr. Ryker began as he slowly stood to his feet, using the table for balance. "Thank you for the meal, Nathaniel. It was quite delicious. Now it's time for grandpa to rest."

"Grandpa?" The boy said suddenly, staring intently at the core of his apple as it slowly decayed upon the table.

"Yes, my boy?" Mr. Ryker said, looking down at him.

"Why did God let this happen?"

Mr. Ryker was shocked at his grandson's words. For a moment he could only stare before mustering the strength to speak.

"Why did God let what happen, Nathaniel?"

"The Blight." The boy answered. "Why is the world so gray and ugly? Why are the people so hateful to one another?What did we do that was so bad to deserve this?"

Mr. Ryker slowly sat back down, letting out a deep sigh. He looked straight into his grandson's eyes and realized that his childlike innocence was slowly disappearing. The boy was growing up. He was only 9 years old and already he was providing for his family and making decisions that people four times his age dread to even ponder.

"I suppose it's time I told you of what the world was like when I was young lad. Perhaps it will help answer your questions." He paused, drawing in a breath and closing his eyes as the image of the world he once knew formed in his mind. "It was about 82 years ago. I was your age at the time. The world was a beautiful place in those years, blessed by God. The earth was lush, the waters clear. The people treated one another with the utmost respect, for there was no reason for them to be bitter. We grew in the following years, our civilization thriving and peaceful.

"A few days after my 19th birthday, outsiders began arriving in our homeland. My people welcomed them with open arms, seeing how weary they were from traveling. It was our duty and desire to be compassionate, for it is what God wanted. It wasn't long after they had come that their leader told us of a threat arising in the outer regions of our nation. They spoke of a people who's only thought was to burn our beautiful land to the ground and enslave us. This was very distressful news, as you could imagine, and we asked the travelers if there was a way we could prevent this from happening. They offered to build a fortress for us, using their own resources, on the condition that we submitted to their governance.

"After discussing the matter amongst ourselves, we agreed to their terms. Within the year, a great wall was built around our beloved home, and we were safe from anything that lurked on the other side. The first few years were not much different than the way we had lived before. We continued to serve God and each other, and we continued to thrive.

"Then, one day, a temptation arose. The outsiders had been tolerant of our ways for a little while before they decided that their god was much more powerful and tangible than ours. They began building temples, their influence growing stronger in nearly every aspect of our lives. We were naïve and content, so we never once questioned their authority. Gradually, we drifted away from our faith in the Lord, until he was nearly all together forgotten.

"We never realized the mistake we had made because we were sheltered within the walls. The world outside began to rot until the lush forests were nothing more that twisted black sculptures. The grass withered away until the soil was gray, dry, and hard. The waters receded until the mighty oceans were nothing more than hidden springs and lakes. When we learned of the death of our beautiful land, we wept as only enlightened fools can. We called the new age the Blight, because it was the destruction of our faith and our world. We were stubborn, and did not want to turn back to God. We tried to fix everything ourselves, which, in turn, only made everything worse.

"Our new government became much more involved and there was nothing we could do to lessen their power over us. We were lost...and we've been lost since the demise of our faith. Few remain that remember what the world was like when God was still a part of our lives. I am one of those few. And now, so are you."

The room was silent as the words sank into the young boy's consciousness. When he didn't speak, Mr. Ryker, stood up, his hands and knees trembling.

"This is our everlasting punishment." He explained, his voice quiet. "Until we can be lead back to the light, we are doomed to live in this cursed world. That is why it is my prayer that your generation will be that light; The light to guide us back to God."

Nathaniel watched as his grandfather turned away and hobbled over to his cot. The old man laid himself down, his frail body sinking into the dusty blankets. He was asleep in a matter of minutes, and the boy was left alone with his thoughts.

It was hard to pray in a faithless world, but he prayed anyway. Lowering his head, he prayed that his grandfather would find peace. He prayed that he could find food for tomorrow. He hoped he wouldn't stumble in his faith like those before him had done. He sat there with his head bowed even after he had finished praying. He couldn't find the strength to open his eyes again and look at the rugged, old shack that was his home. So he remained completely still and silent. He stayed there as if waiting for a miracle to sweep him up on golden wings and take him far away to a place filled with the laughter of children. A place where the world was beautiful again.

A place where his inner light could shine for those lost in the darkness...