Humans are ugly creatures. Enameled thoroughly in greed and envy, they are the embodiment of evil. They seek romance in what does not belong to them. Justified by their twisted sense of justice, using any means to achieve what they want. These vile creatures, thinking that they were the smartest species. That they were the future of the planet. Created weapons and diseases on their whim. But what good is intelligence if you can't see the consequences of your actions? What good is power if it only leads to destruction?
We have proven ourselves to be nothing but children—greedy, arrogant, careless imbeciles. Who played with life as if it all belongs to them. Taking from others and being taken from. Giving rise to endless wars that never end. Everything we have ever done, everything we have built, from the most useless things to civilizations that can count to infinity, they all came crashing down. And even when we know that it is our fault, we blamed others for our own misfortune, because in the end, that's all we even did. Unnecessarily giving birth to more hate and war.
No going back now. No one to apologize to. The damage is done, and we are the ones who did it. You think you know the end of the world when you read about it in books or see it on the news, you think it's just a story, something that will not occur in your world. It happens slowly. Gradually. And then, one day, you wake up and realize, it's over.
We used to think everything was fine. That technology would save us. That we could solve anything with a click, a swipe. But we got complacent. Thought the planet would bend to us, to our convenience.
I guess the worst part is that we knew. We knew. All of us. Deep down, we could feel it. The world was changing. You didn't need a degree in science to see the rivers drying up, the skies darkening, the heat waves stretching longer and longer. You didn't need to read an article to feel it the reverberating malice built up. The Earth was trying to tell us something.
But no, we kept pretending it wasn't happening. We kept going, accelerating further beyond the limits, and right into the disaster. And why? Because we were addicted. Addicted to convenience, to comfort, to power. We believed—no, we were forced to believe, to keep ourselves sane—that if we just kept going, we could fix it. That someone would come up with the solution, that technology would save us, that the next generation would be the one to make things right.
Think about how stupid we were? How sure we were that we had time? Time to save the planet, time to build better technologies, time to right all the wrongs... We spent all our time talking about the future as if it was just a given—something that would just keep coming. But we were already running out of time. Every moment we wasted, ignoring the warnings clearly given. Forests burned, oceans rose, the air thickened, the cracks in the Earth were growing deeper. We were too busy fighting each other to notice.
The war still continues, we saw how quickly humanity could destroy itself. We did. No going back now. But maybe, just maybe, if I can make it through another day. Another week. I don't know. Maybe I will find something worth holding onto in these ruins. Or maybe it's the stubbornness. Or maybe just luck.
The hard part is facing the fact that we did this to ourselves. That we are the architects of our own demise. We did not fall due to the artillery, neither did nature. But the miasma of hate and resentment kept accumulating. The oceans didn't rise on their own. The wildfires didn't burn without reason. The Earth didn't just decide to stop giving us resources. We took everything, thinking it was ours to take, and now we are paying the price.
It's not about saving anything anymore, except maybe myself. It's all gone. The earth is shifting. Waking up to the smell of smoke, not knowing if it's coming from a wildfire or a decaying city, perhaps the corpses that lay in this desolate wasteland. The sky now only an impenetrable haze of ash. The air thicker, the soil more toxic. You can almost taste the pollution in your mouth. The storms are more violent. The sense of hostility from the very place that gave birth to us. The weight of the Earth's anger on my chest, like it's crushing me slowly, reminding that us humans are not welcome anymore.
The world doesn't need us. We're a temporary thing. The Earth will continue without us. It will heal, eventually. Maybe after many centuries, but it will find its balance again. The question isn't how to save the world—it's how we survive in a world that doesn't need us.
The time flies by, nothing matters when you are just trying to get through the day. Every day is a battle—to survive. I used to think survival was about finding food and shelter. But that is the least of what this seclusion holds. It's about mental endurance. It's about holding onto something that keeps you going when everything around you screams for you to give up. Even when you are all alone, all hope gone, yet you choose to suffer.
We were too late to change anything, and yet, we keep going. I don't know why we keep going. Maybe it is because we don't know how to die. We have lost everything, but somehow, we are still here. And as long as I'm here, I will survive.