[ WP ] Gods are around as long as they have statues and images of themselves to look out through . Write what happens when their last statue is smashed .

She watched as the rockslide began, the little pebbles preceding the inevitable boulder. Her stony eyes stared impassively at impending death. 
 
 She had seen so much in her life. She had watched civilizations rise and fall, seen pairs of lovers grow old a thousand times, and observed the gentle movements of the stars. She had borne witness to great atrocities and simple joys. A guardian, a friend, an enemy... She had been all of them so many times before. She was tired. She was ready. 
 
 The boulder reached over the cliff's edge. It was gaining momentum. 
 
 Some had sung her praises. Some had denounced her as pagan to their own gods. She had been reorganized in half-a-dozen pantheons in twice as many roles. How many young girls had prayed to her for a good husband? How many farmers had begged her for a bountiful harvest? The number was unimportant; only that there were many. It was meanings that counted in the realm of the divine. 
 
 And yet, now there were none. 
 
 Rolling. Such a physical concept. A hard-and-fast action completely within the province of physics. Fitting, that it should be her agent of death. It was not just physical though. There was meaning in everything, if you looked hard enough. Physics and metaphysics were inextricably intertwined. 
 
 She felt a twinge of fear as the rock breached her final bastion, but also relief, and wonder. Death was so hard to come by for the immortal. How many had she seen pass away, granted that long sleep? Again, the number did not count. 
 
 Her mind began to disband. 
 
 Goodbye my children, she thought. Goodbye my parents as well. You were always one and the same. 
 
 The nameless goddess smiled, and wondered if there was an afterlife for gods. 

