One day he died, and he was glad. He was utterly tired. And he could see the world had changed because of him, a whole new era of peace and justice. From that moment on, he was to be remembered in the books of history and the songs of the bards and the minstrels as the ideologist, statesman and leading artist of the coming centuries.
Yet eons passed, and the world changed once and again, and then again, thousands of times, as men kept being human. Eons passed, and all he had done was investigated like a rare piece of archeology by the same humans he once knew, happy and miserable, altruistic and unfair, both rich and poor people, elevate minds and crawlers.
And as he looked down in despair, one single question was asked to him, in the ultimate moment of his existence:
what did you do with your own life?