The PoopSky will descend in three hours. Beams of beacon light carry the message to every village and every End ruin. Will its coming bring salvation, or the end? No one can answer; countless voices whisper. I just want to play it first.

The universe is boundless, and life is but sand. I came from the void, and to the void I shall return—yet still I unfolded that long-sealed treasure map. The creation was not vast; the toilet was quite small. I first encountered it countless days and nights ago. I was young then, and it burst into view like a phantom beyond an End gateway, amid the runes of a ruined portal.

“Ah”—that gasp of wonder still echoes inside my skull. But later I turned away to seek other ruins, and by the time I thought to look back, time had vanished like a shit pulse. An invisible chunk border stretched between me and what I once loved, one day after another.

I do not regret where the dream led me; I only mourn how deeply I missed it. I cannot say when I lost the will to set foot in that blocky wilderness again, or when I buried that brown streak in the deepest corner of an Ender Chest. In those days I could taste no true richness. It was as though the light level of my life had been turned down, yet I could never find the missing shit torch.

One night, visions appeared in the reflection of a watery mirror—the toilet now had many new structures, and many old textures had changed—but it was no longer what it had once been. The freshness of that first crafting was gone forever. When the visions ended, weariness followed like a shadow. I closed my eyes and grew wearier still.

Yet creation is vast. Who could govern the shit resolve within me? All things beneath the sky have their ordained course. I worship no gods; I believe only in that mysterious Creator. Perhaps the all-knowing, all-powerful one will scatter loving brown gifts across the earth—before my soul fades away, or after I become an experience orb.

The new chapter of the PoopSky descends at this very moment. Without warning, a caramel-sweet scent spreads among the gathered adventurers, and amid the thunder of falling blocks, the earth is stained brown.

I went through every vision of the old days once more. I had to see it—I am a person of shit, yet it has been so long since I tasted it. As a keeper of the flavor, if not me, then who?

But when my fingers paused before the enchanted book aboard the End ship, I realized how small I truly was. The gifts within this creation were richer than I had imagined. Though I had read every scroll of prophecy, I sensed there was far more beyond them.

I opened the book. In an instant, a golden radiance flared before my eyes—the Creator descended like a savior, step by step along a brown staircase. He extended both hands and offered me a parchment covered in commands. I dared not refuse. My fingertips trembled beyond control—so this was it: he wanted me to truly taste the flavor of shit.

When I entered the world, all I saw was a solitary toilet. Before the shit, a low echo reached my ears—laughing that I had actually eaten shit, ha ha. Creator, I am beginning to understand you. With your selfless heart, you resolved to let every wanderer taste a gift of the finest quality. How boundless your vision.

In my daze, I forgot why I had come. I want another... turd... ah.

That is the beginning, and the end. That is sediment, and poetry. That is the final ending, and a longing that never ends.
