How are you? It’s been a while since we last talked, and I haven’t noticed you around lately. It seems like I only see Concrete these days. I know you don’t much like Concrete, but it’s really not that bad once you get to know it. It’s only doing its job.
I saw some loggers the other day. They were driving a truck full of your children. Did it hurt, when they were killed? Did you feel them being uprooted and sawed through and thrown unceremoniously onto a metal bed? You work so hard, I wonder if you have time to notice your children anymore. You are forced to direct your attention to the abandoned houses and the cleared wasteland; you must reclaim them before someone else does. But how many places can you take back? How long will it be until everything is concrete, until trees are a myth and animals are kept only as food?
We are already halfway there. We are clearing your forests and drying up your streams. We are pumping chemicals into your oceans and releasing toxins into your air. We are murdering you, and yet you still strive to please us. How can you be so good? How can you continue to allow the decimation of your children and your life? How can you not choose to end it all with a show of force? A single hurricane could destroy a country; a single tornado can wipe out a city. You could easily send a tsunami to cover an island, a fire to race through a town. Your rage could trigger earthquakes to bring down buildings and shatter the flimsy lives of those who did the same to you. You could order a volcano to erupt and annihilate a city. You have done it before, why don’t you do it again?
But you don’t. You wait patiently for us to see what we have done, for us to make amends, for us to fix what we have broken. But what if we don’t? What if the needless killing continues and soon you are just a shell of what you once were? Will you still attempt to give us the things we took from you? Will you be able to? Or will we finally succeed in silencing your voice?
I can feel a storm coming, and it is not a natural one. This is not you, Earth. This is the human plague let loose on the world, blighting everything it touches. This is the foul stench of death, wafting in the air. This is the sound of trees burning and animals groaning and people laughing. This is the end.