ooc: little short story I did, not character-based or anything, really. More around the message than around a plot. I think it's alright, tell me what you think.
ic:
"War. War never changes."
There are barren wastelands, and endless, dull plains. There are bleached mountains, scarred canyons, and red skies. There are the ruins of a harbor city, a massive tower poking out into the sky like a bump in the road. There is another city, where gusts of wind blow across the streets and cause these ruins of a civilization of gods to collapse, spontaneously. Spontaneously was how this happened – it is only one word to describe this massacre, this self-inflicted genocide. There is no end to these cities, canyons and deserts. There is no end to this. Because war…war never changes. It never has, and it never will.
"The skies darkened, and our whole world was extinguished.
You could compare it to the massive slaughter of the dinosaurs. These beasts ruled the land, seas and skies for hundreds of thousands of millions of years, and then, there – gone. Something, someone killed them all. Some suspect it to be a meteor, falling from the sky like the Angel of Death; others, a climate change that was so quick it destroyed an entire ecosystem and sent a family of animals to extinction. The deep irony here, of course, is that we have mastered everything on this planet – the skies, the waters, and the land, just like those massive beasts. And we stayed here for only 60,000 years. We barely even touched the knowledge of this place, this curious, wondrous world.
And yet we know of our death. We know of our destruction. Our death knoll is, without a shadow of a doubt, that of a nuclear explosion. A thousand million missiles launched at once."
"…Dear God."
A wind blows by a magazine, with the title "2100: A Century", but it is impossible to tell how long it has been since that day. They categorized the event instantly; the Internet made it impossible not to do so, the e-spies hacking into every channel, no one safe. But what happened was impossible to stop; and no one, surprisingly, knew why. The e-hackers, the government officials, average Bob Joe working at the factory, the leaders, the children, the teens and the criminals - they only saw the trails of a million angels of death, and they cried, and they prayed, and they died. Every single human being, all 15 billion of them, whether on the land or under the sea or in the skies, floating in their cloud-cities. Not a single person survived, eventually. Some were spared, of course – but they envied the dead, as they died from starvation and food poisoning, others from radiation and suicide. Some mutated, changed, and became horrible misfits, managing to live for thousands of years, their traits enhanced supernaturally. A bitter irony – the last few who made it through became gods, towering above this rocky wasteland forever, it seemed. But they, too, fell to death, and when they did so they accepted it with glee. Immortality without purpose is Hell; and nothing was better than passing away for these people.
"There is no hope for us. We are dead already; I am about to kill myself now. I just want those who come after us to know that nothing big is good. Like Rome, we, the United Coalition of Countries, falls to our unwieldly weight, our mass destroying us. I hope that nothing like this happens to anyone else. I hope, for our sake, there is no other intelligent life anywhere. Goodbye."
The times go by. The world turns, changed in an instant from a water-filled, life-supporting wonder into a miniature hell. But even in the seeds of destruction, new life can be born – and it was. Those carbon cells, stuck inside the rock deep under the oceans, began to crawl out, slowly; and they made life. They began the same process that they did after the dinosaurs – the meteor impact awoke Mother Nature, and a strange thing began to happen. The Earth is like a living being; and when knocked down by such a catastrophic event, it will, eventually, get back up. And it did.
These cells did not only use sunlight to make food again; they also desperately searched for other things. They had learned that creation did not need to be mercilessly executed, like before. Energy could merely be gathered up, in a mass, and let loose, and all would go from there. They had learned, indirectly, from the Universe, and the Big Bang.
"I only hope to the good Lord that He gives me a place in Heaven - for my life is full of sin. I am sorry, Jesus - forgive me now, before the Devil comes for my soul. I leave this holo-message for those out in the stars - take heed. Fighting is useless. Only a path for the Devil; this is proof."
Like a model of everything, they started; little life forms began to gather up all things from the ends of the earth. This process took untold billions of years, but nonetheless they succeeded; and as the Sun, called Sol long ago, became a red giant, these carbon cells had crafted something amazing. It was a massive mini planet, a massive cosmic mass. As simply as the angels of death had slaughtered the world untold eons ago, this mini-planet exploded – bursting outward, it let loose with pieces of itself, hardened to resist the deep cold of space, launched at nearly the speed of light.
It would take longer from them to reach a habitable planet, but they had learned. And as the star behind them flickered out, and another star died without a soliloquy to acknowledge it's existence, Mother Nature had given her legacy to the galaxy.
War never changes, but the world does.
ic:
"War. War never changes."
There are barren wastelands, and endless, dull plains. There are bleached mountains, scarred canyons, and red skies. There are the ruins of a harbor city, a massive tower poking out into the sky like a bump in the road. There is another city, where gusts of wind blow across the streets and cause these ruins of a civilization of gods to collapse, spontaneously. Spontaneously was how this happened – it is only one word to describe this massacre, this self-inflicted genocide. There is no end to these cities, canyons and deserts. There is no end to this. Because war…war never changes. It never has, and it never will.
"The skies darkened, and our whole world was extinguished.
You could compare it to the massive slaughter of the dinosaurs. These beasts ruled the land, seas and skies for hundreds of thousands of millions of years, and then, there – gone. Something, someone killed them all. Some suspect it to be a meteor, falling from the sky like the Angel of Death; others, a climate change that was so quick it destroyed an entire ecosystem and sent a family of animals to extinction. The deep irony here, of course, is that we have mastered everything on this planet – the skies, the waters, and the land, just like those massive beasts. And we stayed here for only 60,000 years. We barely even touched the knowledge of this place, this curious, wondrous world.
And yet we know of our death. We know of our destruction. Our death knoll is, without a shadow of a doubt, that of a nuclear explosion. A thousand million missiles launched at once."
"…Dear God."
A wind blows by a magazine, with the title "2100: A Century", but it is impossible to tell how long it has been since that day. They categorized the event instantly; the Internet made it impossible not to do so, the e-spies hacking into every channel, no one safe. But what happened was impossible to stop; and no one, surprisingly, knew why. The e-hackers, the government officials, average Bob Joe working at the factory, the leaders, the children, the teens and the criminals - they only saw the trails of a million angels of death, and they cried, and they prayed, and they died. Every single human being, all 15 billion of them, whether on the land or under the sea or in the skies, floating in their cloud-cities. Not a single person survived, eventually. Some were spared, of course – but they envied the dead, as they died from starvation and food poisoning, others from radiation and suicide. Some mutated, changed, and became horrible misfits, managing to live for thousands of years, their traits enhanced supernaturally. A bitter irony – the last few who made it through became gods, towering above this rocky wasteland forever, it seemed. But they, too, fell to death, and when they did so they accepted it with glee. Immortality without purpose is Hell; and nothing was better than passing away for these people.
"There is no hope for us. We are dead already; I am about to kill myself now. I just want those who come after us to know that nothing big is good. Like Rome, we, the United Coalition of Countries, falls to our unwieldly weight, our mass destroying us. I hope that nothing like this happens to anyone else. I hope, for our sake, there is no other intelligent life anywhere. Goodbye."
The times go by. The world turns, changed in an instant from a water-filled, life-supporting wonder into a miniature hell. But even in the seeds of destruction, new life can be born – and it was. Those carbon cells, stuck inside the rock deep under the oceans, began to crawl out, slowly; and they made life. They began the same process that they did after the dinosaurs – the meteor impact awoke Mother Nature, and a strange thing began to happen. The Earth is like a living being; and when knocked down by such a catastrophic event, it will, eventually, get back up. And it did.
These cells did not only use sunlight to make food again; they also desperately searched for other things. They had learned that creation did not need to be mercilessly executed, like before. Energy could merely be gathered up, in a mass, and let loose, and all would go from there. They had learned, indirectly, from the Universe, and the Big Bang.
"I only hope to the good Lord that He gives me a place in Heaven - for my life is full of sin. I am sorry, Jesus - forgive me now, before the Devil comes for my soul. I leave this holo-message for those out in the stars - take heed. Fighting is useless. Only a path for the Devil; this is proof."
Like a model of everything, they started; little life forms began to gather up all things from the ends of the earth. This process took untold billions of years, but nonetheless they succeeded; and as the Sun, called Sol long ago, became a red giant, these carbon cells had crafted something amazing. It was a massive mini planet, a massive cosmic mass. As simply as the angels of death had slaughtered the world untold eons ago, this mini-planet exploded – bursting outward, it let loose with pieces of itself, hardened to resist the deep cold of space, launched at nearly the speed of light.
It would take longer from them to reach a habitable planet, but they had learned. And as the star behind them flickered out, and another star died without a soliloquy to acknowledge it's existence, Mother Nature had given her legacy to the galaxy.
War never changes, but the world does.
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