Over the Edge

The sun didn’t rise that morning, it just jumped up into position, and then it plopped down below the horizon, then up again. It shot back and forth like a pinball. Nothing was moving the right way that day. The stars were jittering in the sky, darting from one horizon to the next. The oceans rose up in great pillars, then fell down again. Birds stayed on the ground but the deer took flight. Trees grew sideways, clouds formed into balls and rolled across the sky. Avalanches careened uphill and crested the peaks. The street moved under my feet like a treadmill, taking the scenery with it. And then, in an instant, it all went back to normal.

Not even the greatest scientists could explain it. Philosophers drove themselves insane with their ideas. Religions recruited in masse and scooped in truckloads of cash. Governments became paranoid and built more walls. Millions stopped drinking and millions more hit the bottle. It was not a time for the strong-willed and stable mind, but belonged for those who had always lived in a world that was a bit shaky. It was just another wrinkle to them.

It had happened before, tens of thousands of years ago. It was sketched out on rock walls, in symbols and pictures. Petroglyphs captured the scene perfectly for those who had lived through it. Life went on for them, but not for the newest generation. Too many humans on Earth with too many conspiracies. The agony of the unknown drove societies into chaos. It was a virus of paranoia, anger, jealousy, and distrust.

On a quiet plateau at the edge of the Sahara, sketches were being carved into the face of the cliffs. They would be forgotten again for tens of millennia. The unknown became the undoing of modern society. It was a society living on the edge, and that strange day when the sun jumped up and then down, was enough to push it over the edge.