The year at hand is not one that can be numbered, as after all, there is nobody around to number it. The world is in a perpetual state of complete silence, where not a voice has been heard in several years. Again, those years cannot be numbered, for nobody is there to number them.
Where once was a world of voices and stylistic ideas; is silence. The species that dominated this world is now all but extinct, after thousands of years of modification to their surroundings, the animals that lived alongside them, themselves even; they went too far, corrupted the purpose they had been put there for, the purpose they were trying to work out for themselves.
The imagination of this species went beyond natural bounds, they were clever, cleverer I think, than they were meant to be; yet they were also not clever enough because after all, what organism in its right mind ignores a glaring truth – and this truth was beyond glaring – when it stares it right in the face?
Things were going wrong from the first day of the existence of this particular species, and soon after it was created it was apparent that they were a bad influence, that they were not supposed to exist, and there was fear for the welfare of the entire world, but of course, nothing was done. So this species thrived in this world, and began the way most do, using natural means to live and breathe, to survive. They found or made habitats, hunted, foraged, lived the way the rest of the animals did.
But then they began to use less natural means of surviving, sharpening stones on sticks to help with hunting, covering themselves in animal skin as they had little fur. This was still well within natural bounds, but they were evolving faster than was necessary, or even healthy. Soon they began to separate themselves from the natural world, building huts of mud and rock, keeping animals locked up in confined pens, began to domesticate.
Before long, they'd invented a way to kill an animal without letting it fight for its life, the way nature intended. The most shocking thing was when they developed this weapon further, created many of them and turned these weapons on each other, this was definitely not right – yet still nothing was done.
They claimed the land for their own, deluded themselves into thinking that they owned it and not the other way around. They began to use other animals to carry out the menial tasks they did not wish to do or could not do, and suddenly were making new beasts of metal and oil to replace the ones of flesh and blood, machines to lift them into the sky when land and sea became too slow for their taste, and eventually, past the sky into the void of blackest night.
Nothing was good enough for this disaster of evolution, this mutation of the natural world. Their lifespan, their resources, even their own appearances were unsatisfactory. The world could not cater for them the way they wished to be catered for, so they decided to exploit their planet's hospitality and scar the land the way they wished, as though it were not a precious resource or anything special at all. They treated it the way they treated each other, with disregard, cruelty and animosity. At least in an animal’s mind, each is equally important in keeping the balance, and they do not kill each other over trivial things like where they think they will go when they die, because they all know where they will go: back to the earth to replenish her.
But nothing could show them this was how it was, nobody listened to the language of the world anymore, it was simply a place to maim and destroy, because in their minds, they could always search the stars for a new one. The problems here would fix themselves. They could not have been further from the truth of course, but Humanity had never had the sense to listen.
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