My name is Sydney. I don't know how old I am. I can't remember what my parents looked like. My friends. These things used to matter to me. They don't anymore. I used to think survival was what mattered. Now I don't. There's no hope for survival anymore. There's no hope for anything anymore. Most of the plants died long ago, or are still dying. What is healthy is poisonous. The only animals I've seen recently are crows, rats, cockroaches, and mosquitoes. I haven't seen another person in ten years. They've all died. Or left this planet in their rockets - looking for another planet to live on. It doesn't matter now. They're gone now. Soon, I’ll be gone too. Which is why I’m writing this. Not because I want my legacy to endure. What legacy is there if everything is dead? Not because I’m trying to comfort myself. I'm beyond that now. I'm writing these letters as a warning. Don't do what they did.
-Sydney
YOU ARE READING
Chemical Letters
Научная фантастикаA bundle off letters sit on the floor, soaked in foul smelling things, and stained with something that looks suspiciously like blood. We're all gathered around them, reading, trying to decide what to make of them. The "chemical letters" they're bein...
