Do you believe in Miracles?

In 1980, a memorable moment in sports was during the XII Winter Olympics. Cold war tensions were high and the U.S Olympic hockey team found themselves against the indomitable Soviet Army Hockey team. The announcer, Al Michael posed a question that would forever be fixed in the minds of every man, woman, and child that ever wished for hope.

That year, Soviets went home that year with the Olympic cup, soon followed by a nuclear warhead and the question would remain unanswered for many hundreds of years.

Our tale starts with a simple, wooden, cradle. This cradle is not empty, but there is no sound from it. Covering the face of the child is a white cloth slightly stained with the tears of the mother who bore this stillborn. She floats down the dark and river with frogs croaking in the reeds and the many different crescent moon high overhead.

Suddenly the river lit up as the moon's high over began breaking apart as prices plunged towards the tiny planet. The winds rose up and in the far in the distance, cities burned, monarchs and beggars died, all equal in death. The land was crushed and reshaped, oceans moved and mountains soared. As this world of Terra was experiencing armageddon, the little stillborn child was sent flying into the air by the impact of thousands of continent-sized pieces of the moon.

This child was unharmed. Through sheer luck or fate, not a single jagged piece of moon touched that cradle. Through the storm of debris and bullet-like objects whizzing through the air like gunfire, not a single one, touched the loose cloth covering the dead child's body.

All that knew fear fled by plane, boat, even just futilely running on their own two legs. On the wing of a private jet the cradle landed. A single inch lower or high and the cradle and contents would have been sliced in two by the wing. Flaming meteors rained down like the wrath of god, shattering the plane and pitching the cradle into an abyss of fire.

The moon had cracked open the crust of the poor planet and opened up subterranean volcanic tubes and hot spots causing great lakes of fire to form. These boiling hot lakes of molten rock collided with the water of the oceans that had jumped its shores, creating geysers tens of miles high, blasting the little cradle upwards into the atmosphere.

As the planet gradually calmed down, the little cradle found itself exactly in between the shattered moons and broken earth. In that moment, fate decided. With the moons and the little planet so close together the young child gravitated towards the moon, carried by a soft wind down onto the mountain side of the moon.

The once many moons and the small planet had now changed forever. The little planet had grown with all the mass it had absorbed from the moons. Now only 3 moons remained in the sky. The simple, wooden, cradle sat upon the top of a newborn mountain peak of the moon Selene. The sky had literally fallen on top of humanity, so someone of the time might not find it strange when from the cradle of the stillborn child came the cry of hope.