Fractured Renaissance Tales of Old: the Population Plague

It's near the end of the world, and the Church intelligentsia concurs.

The darkness in man's soul is terrifying the whole of Christendom where prophets and theologians have lost control. As the world inexorably approaches the year 1500, anxieties deepen at a staggering pace.

Who will save the world?

If today someone were to shout from the rooftops imploring us to love our Mother Earth before it's too late, would we listen?

Prophets come in many forms and often speak our language. Their words are comprehensible, but their meaning is not.

Prophecy is serious business. Often the prophet is taken for the fool, the eccentric saint, or the madman who's half-blind and sees things we do not. Or could it be the old lady who walks her dog ten times a day apparently mumbling words to deaf ears while her Parkinsonian hand keeps trembling to the beat of a truth no one wants to hear.

Prophecy is dangerous. If we listen, then we too might be crazy like the fool, the saint, the half-blind man, and the old lady with her dog.

Prophecy is not for me. I'll just sit in my poop and play it safe.