We Are Existing Human, And In This Place We Lay Dormant.

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

4,000 years prior, when we escaped the Disdain filled Light on board mankind's last enduring starship, we had a lot to consider. Such considerations included: impressions of our species, consumed to debris; our Establishment's withering desire; and whether our imminent, new world would hold guarantee. 

Of those musings, two ideas demonstrated to grasp our brains hardest. 

First — we accepted we were the divine beings' Fifty Everlasting Kids. 

That expectation, nonetheless, ran: Our bodies were passing on. Be that as it may, it wasn't the Light's derisive doing; indeed, severance from Earth-Prime brings mortality. Our bodies age, each very much into our third century. Wounds won't ever mend. Scraped area and scarring battle Pyrrhic conflicts on senescent skin. 

In torment, we weeped for Ninurta's pardoning. O, Defender. Rush our excursion! Wrench the expanding distress from our lives! Be that as it may, he provided no sign. 

We promised, at that point, to enter cryogenic balance. We couldn't be sure whether we'd wake; what we'd do… 

At the point when we arose at our objective, 1.6 billion light-years away, we learned of new mishaps. We found fourteen among us had died. They each dismissed living for a couple of years longer in hibernation. They dismissed being the Fifty Immortals humankind required. They accepted their egotistical cravings of dooming their spirits, of meandering the Place that is known for No Return in ceaselessness. 

Also, rather than seeking after their duty — our duty — we tracked down their uncovered, dried bones spread across a lower deck. 

Also, when we took in this planet — the just Earth-like planet in two billion light-years — could not support us? 

We then believed — second — that we had conveyed demise with us. 

We thought this planet, uncommon to an abnormal degree, existed uniquely to compel us. To suck us dry — not the opposite. Also, presently I can get a handle on why it torments us… 

Some divine vindictiveness probably positioned this planet here to butcher us. To bait us across the Universe, and when we are powerless, strike us down. The Disdain filled Light could do it in the event that it spent aeons — but we, alone? Alone, we showed up speedier. Into the snare. 

Past our starship's frame, novel microbes sprout, letting off a plenitude of O2 — toxic to our present bodies. We can't inhale it. We hold the instruments to repopulate — the hardware to develop another human body plan and let it flood back, in large numbers. We, directing mankind to overcome Earth, once more. 

We could… 

… Yet our hearts are hefty. 

Near the precarious edge of allowing human advancement to prosper over again, on this New Earth, we know in our souls this is transient. Regardless of whether we satisfy our definitive obligation; regardless of whether we complete our work, regardless of whether we endure? The Disdain filled Light will come, once more, and obliterate all we fabricated. 

What is this, at that point, however a malignant growth? What eases back the tide however a huge number of squandered ages? 

Imagine a scenario where… We just didn't construct ourselves back up. 

This is an inquiry the greater part of us showed up at normally. Most. A couple of others among us have, tragically, kept supporting expectation. 

Yet, on the off chance that we could address that… 

One quiet night — mere hours before we anticipated actuating Activity Thaumiel, controlling up Distortion 2000, and starting human civilization 2.0 — we chose to act against them. In the event that we fizzled, their will would be done; on the off chance that we thrived, we would definitely bite the dust. 

It was three-to-one. Of the 36 people who stayed, 27 lost hope — I among them. The nine remaining — the hopefuls — did not shout. There was no grisly bring in the evening. There had been no battle. All things being equal, while they rested, we thought about their sparkling hibernal coffins… 

… With our innovation, those could run indefinitely — couldn't they? 

We pressed their arms and legs together and heaved them into the cold throats of cryogenic balance units. We supported the external seals. We crushed the time-bolts and covered the units with canvases. Where they got up frightened, seconds prior, the floor presently sat unfilled. 

Our Originator, as well, lies in stasis — but we won't deliver him. He represents the main possibility at restarting our civilization — our Foundation — among us. This can't be. 

We destroyed everything next. We consumed all information documents, destroyed souvenirs. Our strength against survival — against the proceeded with endurance of our species — was unquenchable. There is no returning. 

Our experimentation subject, that ambiguous reptile let skittering free into the ruined mainland past our arrival site, will be the first — and last — to stir on this planet, and one day, feel the Light get back from the grip of room time. Yet, for us lone few, we won't endure the shocking mandates that shepherded us here. That encouraged us to assemble another Establishment, so our kin may luxuriate again in an amicable sanctuary underneath a recognizable brilliant sun. 

This planet, in the event that it proves to be fruitful as the installed PC distinguished? It will develop without us. 

We are The Last. 

We lost everything. Our bedrock. Our kin. Our future. The divine beings made ready forward, however deceptive we discovered it, and now we are worn out. We have been ground down — a impression of those fourteen who couldn't go on. We are exhausted, weighted by the loses faith in regards to billions lost to the Disdain filled Light. 

Yet, we won't allow HIM to win. 

The arrangement, I think, to endless presence? Total Zero. For, inside balance, we may at long last arrive at the genuine death the divine beings stowed away from us. We may at long last ponder on the huge number of ages who got us here. Furthermore, this, drawn out by our insuperable innovation, will persevere underneath a bed of rock and decay. 

Until that last halt of entropy; secured, while our cells sit frozen. 

We Existing Humans, And In This Place We Lay Dormant.

Submitted: May 14, 2021

© Copyright 2021 IAmJustAWriter. All rights reserved.

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This is probably the one of the hardest things I ever get to write.

Fri, May 14th, 2021 12:50am

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