Kevin Davy<p>Everyone knows that a great writer creates worlds. What is lesser known and believed, is that in an infinite multiverse, the very greatest writers worlds become universes of their own.</p><p> And in one such universe on this day, the world turtle, Great A'tuin, pauses its relentless journey across the stars and remembers. The world it carries grows still. Wars pause, fights end and even the bitterest and most fermented of feuds takes a moment, like the fine wine passed down through the generations that they were, to rest.<br> Even in the great and ignoble city of Ankh-Morpork, where nothing is sacred or revered, this day is marked. The dwarf and Troll bars go quiet, but for the murmur of the old stories of the world being told. Even the Mended Drum is as quiet as a tearoom on a Sunday afternoon. Wizards and assassins, thieves and guilds and even the seamstresses pause their relentless activity. It's even said to be possible to use the Shades as a shortcut and be sure to come out on the other side, although probably not by those who didn't. <br> It's even rumoured and whispered about, that on this day, all the mime artists and clowns who otherwise never speak, gather far from the city, in a place where they can be sure there will be no audience. And there, in glorious chorus, they raise their voices and sing a lament of such power and sadness, regret and loss and memory, that it was as if the very angels themselves were singing the memory of this day.<br> Although, there again, perhaps not, even in this universe, something's could just be too far-fetched to be true.<br> <br> Gone, but never forgotten. His memory lives on, as long as his song is heard.</p><p><a href="https://beige.party/tags/GnuTerrypratchett" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>GnuTerrypratchett</span></a></p>