From this expanse of solitude,a great secret is soon be revealed to the whole of man.At the dawn of 1945,great minds toil sleeplessly.Their tools--the very principles of the universe.Their aim--nothing less than a lasting peace for the world entire.It would be a hulking task for a deity.But these are not Gods.These are mortals.These are men.They have hopes and dreams,needs and desires.They have fears and misgivings for what the future may hold.They are the makers of a coming history we are all headed toward.History is too often not what happened,but what was recorded.A lie set down on paper with wet ink,becomes a truth when dry.Such is the case of this history,here in the quiet desert.Here we find men whose achievements will be snatched for the glory of others,whose sacrifices will be forgotten as detritus.The cleanest telling would draw one great man in whom we could find a teachable narrative,an examplar of what,should we give it our all,we could become.
Manhattan
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