We were the knights who rode valiantly into the sunset to save the damsel in distress. We were the men from outer space who came in peace. We were the fearless soldiers who protected the country with our life. We were the many faces that inhabited that wonderful universe of dreams—dreams that bloomed and then inevitably died.

We knew we could not live forever. After all, there were only so many adventures to be had: Only so many damsels to be rescued, only so many planets to make contact with, only so many wars to fight.

Oh how I remember how we wished that our god would not stop dreaming, that our creator would not fall asleep. But his world changed, and, as a result, so did ours. One by one we were replaced until our universe was a totally different place—strange and foreign, a barren wasteland of dying hopes and shattered expectations.

It was a world that could only live off of fantastic thoughts and ideas. It was a place whose soul was the wild imagination of a child. It was a place that died long ago when our god forgot how to dream.