The remains of a structure smolder and smoke at the edge of my lands. Was it a bridge to safety? A storehouse of treasure?
I burnt down the barn. Kept inside was heap upon heap of woe, catalogued and collected bit by bit. I kept it all with pride, proof of my worth, my diligence.
Dawn came, and I saw there was no use to be made of my secret wealth. These coins I could not spend.
Burn.
(Letter #2,416)
Daily Letters to God 