They had predicted it wrong—from the famed prophecies of Nostradamus to the scientific journals by acclaimed scientists—no one could foresee the end of times. And though the wild imaginations of filmmakers and conspiracy theorists were one step closer to the truth, even they had failed to be prepared. For in reality, the end of the world had long been in motion—we were simply blinded by our conceit and complacency to notice it happening… right before our very eyes.
It began on the dewy morning of August 6th, 1954—my arrival to the dying planet. The wheels of time, determining the fate of humanity, creaked in the rust of the lives that once were. And I… was the only being who could hear it. Funny, isn’t it? How not a soul that graced the earth had ever came to be with death in mind. Yet, from the moment they captured the beauty of the world, heard and uttered scores of intriguing sounds, and stumbled foolishly on their little feet, they were in a dance with death—death that they never knew existed. Death that even I wasn’t spared from. Alas, I was no different.
Despite my hope to be an observer, I had little choice but to be. Thus, it wasn’t long after my arrival that I learned of my never-ending demise. From the squabbles beyond my bedroom door that led to broken china, to the antagonistic notes I found in my school bag that framed my identity, every bit of the young starry-eyed dreamer was destroyed before I could even grasp the magnitude of the world. But thankfully, I saw the planet for what it was… and found a way to live.
Perhaps, you wonder—how did such a foreign being succeed? No, I hadn’t unlocked the secret to escaping death. I was no magician, nor crazed enough to concoct a draught for eternal life. In fact, there was no possible means to triumph over one’s destiny. After all, it was a dying planet—not the land itself but the very notion of life that lived within. So how then did I survive?
Just like the taunts of fate, that often sets a macabre stage, are the taunts that reach into the soul—the descent into darkness that swallows all hope, contorts all belief, and destroys the very essence of self. But I, unlike most beings, understood the purpose of those dreadful seasons—not the ‘why’ for their existence, but the ‘how’ to overcome them. Thus, at every dark corner, I learned to pick up the pieces of my shattered dreams and rebuild what was broken. And all it took was a single decision… to live again.
To live on a dying earth is an incredible feat—a planet designed to outlive all physical demise. Yet, in an apocalyptic world, with a vicious cycle of lost, pain, and regret, there was more—a bountiful land of wonder, love, and adventure. And though all life was set to run a course, truly living wasn’t escaping. It was believing that life prevails.
On the morning of August 6th, 2054, my dance was over. I took a step back, bowed at death, and received a deafening applause. It was a praise only I could hear, for keeping the twinkle in the eyes of the young starry-eyed dreamer. But it was all the praise I needed—an acknowledgment that I found a way to live until my dying breath.
12 Genre Months © 2020 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.
(Click HERE for the list of stories in this writing challenge.)