Human world, Human fate

The world has died the same way everything else did: without warning, without meaning. I now stand wondering what its final thoughts were. It was probably minding its own busyness, having aspirations about…I do not know…spinning around itself and just as it was wondering how beautiful its next rotation might be, the universe crushed the life out of it and set its corpse on fire. However, in the brief moment it had left, our world, like a man hit by a car on his wedding day, rolled over, bloody on the black asphalt of its orbit, and whispered: “Why?”

Hah! Who are you to dare ask the universe such questions? She does not have time to answer and I do not think she has an answer to give. So what if you have been here for billions of years! Face it! She killed you on a whim created by chance. This is how you came to be and this is how you will end. The fate that has befallen this planet is no different from the fate of countless humans before: a meaningless death. I only wish I did not have to go down with you.

I am sitting in a bunker, waiting for the supplies to dwindle and for humanity to process its inevitable demise, as the fires outside continue. I guess we are still in shock, but it is a cold and hollow feeling compared to what I have usually felt. It is uncalled for- to die like this. Why should the death of the world lead to our demise as well? It seems unfair, but then I remember that the universe has no players in this game. It has no bias and reasoning. Our world experienced nothing, but the same fate that we have endured for eons. Maybe it deserved a better end, different treatment, but it is possible I am thinking so only because of my own self-interest.

The ship is sinking and all those around me have divided themselves according to their interpretation of the situation. There are those who hope and believe they will somehow make it through. Counter to them stand the very few pessimists who have not yet ended their life in a fragile attempt to take fate into their own hands. I do not belong in either. There is no hope to uphold without severe mental straining and I have no such energy to give. And killing myself feels like a tautology.

I am already dead. I have no future. If man is a constant project during life, then mine has ended. If this project reaches completion only in death, then I am already dead, despite my breathing. I choose to suffer and examine this finished project as only a few were ever in a position to do so.