There are some boundaries men were never meant to cross. To marvel and ponder, yes, that which lay beyond the reach of human mind and aching fingers, but never to degrade the gods by returning to the ape he is because of lust and ego. Puffed and flattered, he who seeks the crown of his creators reveals the very flaw in the master plan. In His own image He did create them.
Even as the lock is picked and Dolly baaas as loud within her cell as in the worshiped throat of her own mother, it is that spark of life that has been stolen, not mimicked, to break the barriers of time. That which was in one form will never change nor will it die in yet another. Or so John Ackroyd Fuller always thought.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology