“I’m done with this. I’m done with all the politics.”
And that was that. He just walked out. There wasn’t even the slightest hint that he might turn around.
We weren’t the same after that. After he left. It was the beginning of the end, I suppose. People began to cluster around the gap in our defences, questioning, querying, poking, prodding. Aggressive wondering became the norm. We continued, of course, but the wheels had very clearly begun to shake and vibrate, and they rolled away, rather suddenly, on the morning of the fifth day after his departure.
I looked at him, in some ways, as a kind of messiah. He had left our little group and wandered out into the wilderness alone, a pioneer. Maybe he had been trying to show us the way. A path. Maybe he was impatient and selfish. I don’t know. The only certainty was that he was gone, and we had collapsed, and splintered, and nobody knew what to do, or the reasons to give for doing it.