Anno Domini Relicuum

Winston Churchill once said: ‘To build may have to be the slow and laborious task of years. To destroy can be the thoughtless act of a single day.’ Each inch mankind advances towards a fluorescent future, a single day’s ignorance ebbs us kilometres back. The ignorance of consequence, the blatant disregard of the law, and the indifference towards relicuum - the future. The world is what it is today because of their irresponsible behaviour, and we’re the ones who are paying the price, with added interest.

Three thousand years have passed since Anno Domini, yet every passing day, homo sapiens grow even more headstrong, which brings us to man’s ongoing situation. Every morning, I wake up in my birthday suit, for amidst the sweltering humidity, a scrap of clothing would sentence you to death. Following a meagre breakfast of insects, we wander around aimlessly, shrouded in a cloud of hopelessness - there was so little to do, yet so much to be done - desperately scavenging for water. Due to the absence of oxygen, you could not breathe too heavily, lest the persons surrounding you hyperventilate, which would then deprive you of oxygen, and the process would repeat itself. Conversation is not an option - it is impossible to strike one with lips so dry they cannot form sounds. The world is but a stretch of brown sand scattered with grains of tents - long have we abandoned the concept of countries or any form of product. 

Once upon another time, there were allegedly trees, and life upon this dry dune, a myriad diversity of animals in lush green forests, schools of fish flicking their tails as they wove between bright corals; and birdsong upon the air. Presently, the only sounds audible are the rustlings of sand being trampled on, and moans of suffering until some of us become no more. In that alternate galaxy, people squandered energy and money on petty wants, neglecting the inexorable future, evading the consequences proven by the past. They wasted invaluable resources, at a massive cost to our lives today. They massacred animals for amusement, causing the extinction of all other living organisms apart from themselves. 

           There is no consolation to be acquired from other citizens: we are hindrances to each other, consumers of already deficient resources. A lifetime in these circumstances is no stroll in the park. The faint of heart often become deranged and impale themselves on tent pikes, unable to withstand their pathetic existence any longer. Frankly, none of us have much conviction left - all that awaits us at the finishing line of survival is a mythical reward, one that we have no evidence of its existence. The world is but a bridge into the afterlife. It is devoid of purpose, bequeaths no joy; it only serves to shatter our resolve, traps and hollows us out into skeletons. You say we are survivors. We haven't survived - time is only lengthening our noose.

Sometimes I ponder what today would be, if the past had given a tinker’s damn about our fate; but alas, they flagrantly decorated the sea with their ‘delightful’ plastics, torturing and killing the animals within; they insisted on wasting resources; they continued deforestation, extinguishing the cold, depleting our oxygen, to make paper and build houses - of which we do not even get to utilise! Reputable achievements were at the expense of nature, which evolved into environment predicaments; for the price of greatness is responsibility. Power was attained, but responsibility? Ask the corpses littered across the desert.

Darkness crept over the campsite. A hot breeze blew the tent flap ajar. I stuck my head out. There was no one about - who would be at this insane hour? I clambered out the tent, chewing a beetle for fuel. Drawing myself to my full height, I gripped the peak of the tent and prepared to impale myself. I hesitated. A second, then two. A few tents away, I saw a child younger than I. His hair was matted and tangled, his ribs showing through his skin. Silently, he shook his head. He gestured vigorously, asking me to approach him. As I neared the tent, tear streaks on the boy’s face grew prominent. He pointed a bony finger toward his tent. An older woman, presumably his mother, lay motionless and unblinking. I stooped to check her pulse. She was gone. I glanced at the boy. He seemed to know she had left permanently. I cautiously extended my hand. He nodded, slipping his bony fingers into mine. I had a new purpose for life - but it wasn’t for mine.

A week had passed since my alleged adoption for a fellow child. He had grown accustomed to my presence although he did shed a tear (or a bucketful) when he awoke the first morning, an orphan. I have grown accustomed to my daily expeditions with an additional mouth to feed. His presence has not changed much of my lifestyle as the only edibles he takes from our rations is water and tiny morsels of creepy-crawlies. 

This morning, water is especially scarce. At long last, a lone cactus shrub is spotted on the horizon, and there is a hustle to acquire the trophy. A reluctant fight breaks out, and after a gruelling few seconds, both opponents perish from the exhaustion; and us remains scramble for the water. An eerie silence descends as we slurp the water with all the dignity of an emaciated lion, re-energising us for the agony of our lingering existence. 

        Triumphant, the victors and I return to our tents to hibernate and conserve energy. However, as I fidgeted and closed my eyes, I found my mind occupied on the future - not mine - but mankind’s. There was no doubt this era was the infamous End Times; for one, no one bothered to reproduce - at this crucial point, it’s every man for himself. Secondly, the population of mankind is dwindling precipitously. Who knows how long more we can last…? We are imprisoned in a void, with land mines surrounding us. One wrong step - and to dust we return. 

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