Words. The box was filled with words. Long, twisted strips of paper forming tangled sentences. I took the box back with me and in the privacy of my room, sorted through the contents. I was missing for hours and no one came looking for me. I take this to mean they don’t truly care about me.
The words were written by a man when went by the name John Smith, in the year 2020. He was a scientist who saw what was happening. He had tried to warn people the direction we were headed in. He left the cities and ghettos for the desert. The Mojave was as dry as it had ever been, but life remained. Snakes, birds, mice, toads, grasshoppers, ants. They continued their lives much as they had for thousands of years, humans a frequent deadly annoyance, but ultimately something to ignore.
I felt sorry for the poor man. He had such ideas and it is clear from his writings that he was a brilliant man. But absolutely delusional.
The state of the world we live in is not our fault. There might have been some predictions, but no one with a right mind and common sense believed them. And the world is not as terrible as he made it out to be. We created structures and materials that will last thousands of years. The footprints of our efforts cover the globe and our children’s grand-children will know it was us that created their world.