Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I don't blame any of them. Weren't humans supposed to cherish their lives? Our ever so fleeting existences are precious in desperation. The rich had seemingly come to save humanity and abandoned it in the process. With these leaps of innovation, this hard work being shot up into a dusty plume of gas in the sky--- I could not help but be in awe of my rage.
The world was enraged. Yet... if we could have been saved in that moment, if there was a seat left right there on the last aircraft, wouldn't we cherish daughters and mothers, sons and fathers, and our own fragile selves? We grew up thinking that human lives were so valuable. We have heard speeches over centuries about the worth of every single person down to the worst of us. That is why the century had been marked with an era of tolerance and budding rights. A good majority had strived to confirm our worthiness to exist. My country had said that men had the unalienable right to life, and even though equality had been drained of society the day one person paid for time he didn't have, who could blame those who truly believed in it? There were the living people on Earth and the living people out in the stars. None of us are any different. We were only angry because we didn't get to survive with the rest of them.
"I knew it!" people have declared, "I knew they were all corrupt!" They knew that everything had seemed fishy to them, that it was the politicians lying as always, that it was the bias towards the privileged, that it was the capitalist scum up to their capitalist schemes.
The richest of us were simply humans after all. We had lost that acceptance in the midst of betrayal and bitter curses. I had called them true devils to have left us to rot, to contemplate our own mortalities on the eve of Armageddon. Sudden knowledge of death gripped the planet. There was more despair over the little time we had left than the planet coming to decimate us. Dying itself was not scary. The fact that one knew they were to die was.
When the traitors to the world were proved wrong, every dear soul on Earth bristled with a kind of joyous vengeance. I was superior, wasn't I? Serves the pretentious bitches up there right! Serves the spoiled brats who'd ever looked down on us! Serves the system, serves the things we've ever hated! Serves the fucking scum!
Was this desperate yearning for life so selfish? For them, it was. We didn't have the time to reflect on ourselves when burning sacrifices. It just became common knowledge that they had always abandoned us. Ever since fifty years ago, every billionaire had been scheming to save their fellow billionaires.
They were turned away years later. After the planet missed by light years, it was only fitting to accept such a divine intervention. Destiny had saved those who had so little. People harbored the belief that this mark of humanity was like a great cleansing of human trash. It was a way to weed out those disloyal to... Us.
I suppose that in a way, after we had righteously given the traitors up to the vast infiniteness of space, it was easier to care about our lives after all. Who needs people who are so utterly inferior, right? Right?
In the end, I realized that I was a fool for realizing things would be any different.
