I, Mankind

It began with the ocean.

First, it was just some coral. No big deal, right? But then—too late—there was nothing and the ocean was lifeless. Nobody would admit it, but we knew; when the fish disappeared, so did our future. From that point on there was no going back. Did we know that? No. But if we had, we would've at least tried, right? I like to hope so, but I rarely have the imagination for that anymore. Now, I can hardly fathom what life was like before It. How many people were there? Were they happy? Did they know they were killing themselves? Did they care?

So many questions cloud my mind with possibilities and feel as if they're bursting out my ears. But what else is there to keep your mind busy with when you have the rest of forever to do nothing? I ask myself that often. Too often, perhaps, but there's nobody around to tell me that. Mum was here for a while, she told me to be nice to the Earth and it might let me stay. Then she had to go, so now it's just me and the dirt and rocks and trees. And the plastic, of course—they survived It, too. They're everywhere, and Mum said they still will be even after I'm gone, that we made something that would last forever only to use it once. Why would we do that?

I don't know, she'd say. That was always the answer.

Why did we do nothing?

I don't know.

Rain pelts against the broad leaves of the trees—a strange symphony that echoes through the forest and off the walls of my cave. In the darkness, acidic water drips past the concrete ceiling and woven leaf cover. I come here when it rains. The basement of this long forgotten building is the only structure that can keep enough rain out. The roof and walls of the building are mostly eroded away, leaving only a thin skeleton and the basement below the floor. Despite having to keep a cover over the hole in the ceiling, it's not so bad. A thick layer of moss carpets the ground, offering a decent bed.

It's ironic, I think, that now, I take shelter beneath one of man's creations. That I survived It only to seek refuge within this building.

Sometimes I wonder if there're others out there alone. Somedays, it gives me hope and makes the world feel not so large and overwhelming. But on days like today, I feel so lonely I know it's true. Mum and I were the last, and she left, so it's just me now—alone on this whole, huge planet. It makes me hate them for what they did: destroying Earth, killing billions, taking mum from me, making me the last. It does, however, provide some semblance of gratuity that they're all gone and after me, there'll be no more destruction; that I, mankind, will be the last.