The Art of Ending Things

People say I love all things, like I’m the happy-go-lucky type. And they’re not wrong. I’ve always had a soft spot for how people come together, how they share their lives, stories, grief, and joy. Love like how a dog looks at its owner, like they hung the stars just for them. Those things always brought a smile to my face.

You can call me a nomad, drifting across the Earth, never calling one place home. I’d spend time in different places, never staying long. Small towns were always my favorite. There’s something different about them, a kind of closeness you don’t find in big cities. People wave to strangers, they stop to talk, they remember your name even if you’ve only met them once. Even outsiders are treated like family. Downtown still holds the same charm it had when the city was first established. That kind of sense of belonging is rare.

Don’t get me wrong; big cities can have their appeal as well, just in a different, more magnificent way. Some cities have skyscrapers that reach into the heavens, with clouds swirling below. The great architecture shows off and quietly competes against each other. Even creations from eons ago still stand the test of time and are protected and preserved. A single consciousness coming together to protect these relics of the past.

The planet has suffered many scars, both self-inflicted and summoned from the planet’s own wrath. Yet, time and again, people come together. Strangers wading through floodwaters for one another. Rubble lifted up in the search of survivors. I’ve seen hands reach out to strangers offering nothing more then warmth. Offerings of food and blankets to the homeless. Giving when there is nothing left to give. You don’t always agree with each other, but still, you reach across divides, over language and distance.

The internet brought people closer then ever. Faces separated by oceans could share joy, grief, and laughter through glowing smartphones. Like wildfire, ideas, stories, and movements spread, sparked by nothing more then a voice and a digital signal. Even through the digital arguments, the noise, you never stopped trying to understand one another.

Knowledge became accessible in a way it never had before. People learned new trades, shared wisdom, and creators came from everywhere. It was a great form of electric unity, imperfect, yes, but undeniably beautiful. For all of your flaws, you tried, and for that, it is what I loved.

But even love has its limits. And I, too, grow bored. This little experiment, if you would call it a little experiment, has gone on too long. The status quo has been met. You have become complacent, a stale figure of your former self. For these reasons, I must end this experiment and extinguish Earth. If you must, call me a spoiled kid who is bored with his toy and ready for the next one. This isn’t my first time doing this, and it won’t be the last. A different species of you will be there, worshipping or shaking your fist in my general direction. The exciting part for me is the beginning, you learn and figure out new things at astonishing speed. I can typically tell the direction you will go, whether it is war, love, or cooperation. Ah, but war… war is a delicious chaos. It sings. That is why I have let you go for so long. Hey, like I said, I love all of you as you are my creation, but I need some action, and war definitely wets the appetite.

Now I could easily snap my finger and make the Earth disappear, but that isn’t fun, and I don’t actually have to snap, it just adds a little theatrics. What I typically like to do is make the Earth unsustainable to life, so as to cause no pain and suffering to you, as you did not create this, I did.

Far beyond your sciences, beyond even your myths, you will never truly understand me. Once life has been extinguished from the planet, I will make Earth’s core heat to unimaginable levels. Lava would seep out of every crevice in the Earth’s crust. Super volcanoes would erupt with lava pouring from fault lines like a spilled goblet of fire.

The world’s oceans would boil from the bottom up, and the sea would scream, accumulating vapor in the atmosphere. Permanent clouds would form, blanketing the sky with darkness, causing acidic rain to dance down on the ground. The atmosphere would be filled with ash, steam, and carbon from worldwide volcanic activity. There would be no more weather, seasons, or water cycles, just an inferno, a hell of my own design, not crafted in anger, but in boredom.

And once Earth has cooled and is just another rock circling the sun, I’ll wait, like I always do. When I’m ready, I will start a new experiment, and perhaps they will find your ruins as they grow. They will learn to understand your language and wonder at your madness, thinking you have made the gods angry. Only I would know the truth and watch in wonderment as they progress.

They won’t know, of course. Not at first. They’ll think the planet is simply unpredictable, and that fate has a twisted sense of humor. The first storms will be seen as a coincidence. The fire’s a tragedy. The earthquakes, unfortunate. Just as you did, they’ll measure, they’ll document, and they will rebuild. Each time, they will build bigger and better.

But over time, a few will begin to wonder, not out loud. Just quietly, to themselves. A feeling in their bones that maybe this isn’t all just nature. Maybe someone or something is watching. That’s my favorite part, the uncertainty. The moment a species begins to ask questions not out of science, but fear. I won’t answer them, of course. That would ruin the fun. But I will watch from a distance, just like before, waiting to see what they make of the world I have given them.

The beginning is always the most beautiful, because there is still hope, and hope gives them a reason to carry on. If everything they do appeases me, I will love them as I have loved you.