I win at writing.

Not my fault.

What is there to do when my world has been torn apart at the seams, and I can only watch the pieces disappear into the emptiness of the void?

The only thing I can do now is write this down from the beginning in the little time I have left and the hope that someone might find it, read it, and maybe, possibly, find it in their hearts to forgive me.

It started only a month ago. They saw us first, contacted us first. There was nothing I could have done about that. 

What I could have done, however, was to not make the first meeting public. That was the first bad decision. I was assured it was safe, that there would be no interruptions. They were wrong.

It all started well. Against all the advice given to me, I decided to host the meeting at the presidential palace. After all, what could possibly be safer and more appropriate? Where else could you meet the most powerful man on Earth but his home? 

Maybe it would have kicked off differently if we had met in private, unannounced and secluded, but I was adamant that such a great discovery must be shared by the world.

We prepared early, set everything up the day before, built the podium and the stage and set up the chairs, sent out invites to the most prominent journalists and organized the television crews. That night I fell asleep to the gentle whine of power tools on my lawn.

Eager to please, we were all out there and waiting an hour before we had organized the start. It seemed that our guests were also nervous about making the deadline since I was told of reports of unidentified aircraft popping up on nearby radar for most of that hour. When the numbers on the massive screen behind me finally flickered to the greatly anticipated four digits, we all grew cold. A massive aircraft appeared above us, as black as the death of the Sun. 

Like a leaf riding the wind the fragile ship turned and descended before us. It came to a stop with its nose resting gently on the tip of the red carpet that led through the chairs to the makeshift stage. Four soldiers in white dress uniform wrestled an impromptu ramp up to the edge of the shimmering coal dart then stood back and waited at attention. There was a hiss of ozone as the ship depressurised then a panel under the nose of the ship opened like a petal, slowly reaching for the ground until it lay flush with the tip of the ramp.

All standing gave a sharp gasp as three tall beings emerged in the hole left in the ship. Unarguably humanoid in shape, though definitely lankier with broader shoulders they looked from out here to be bros that had missed leg day. The aliens started moving slowly down the ramp and I prepared myself to greet them as arranged. Thankfully, we had communicated that both our cultures acknowledged others by clasping “hands”, so we didn’t have to decide whose way of greeting we would use first. They were dressed in dull, shimmering pressure suits and the whole world watched and waited for them as they reached up to remove their opaque helmets. The impossible had finally happened. The professionals were proven wrong as they stared dumbstruck at intelligent life once again.

The professionals were proven wrong again as the bird-like ship exploded in a sphere of blue energy, taking the visitors, the surrounding marines and a significant version of the palace gardens with it. 

The air now rang with the sound of a hundred rail guns that had fired the implosion shells.  I saw nothing else as my bodyguards dragged me to cover, but I heard the screams of panic and the engines of the attack jets flying over head.

The next few days were a blur. I wish I could tell you that we spoke to our visitors, apologised to them, punished whoever did this, but they would not answer us. I wish I could tell you that we found whoever doomed our planet, but the air strike vaporised all traces of them and any evidence we could have used to track down who hired them. My advisors told me that a major religion based in the ruins of Italy was claiming responsibility for the attack. Three hours later, there were no life forms remaining for a hundred kilometres around the ruined city.