I don’t remember it happening. It must have been long ago, before the sky fell, before the Mirohs arrived. When I was young?
The world had been burning, literally, fires everywhere. Ice melting. One day it was cold, the next boiling hot.
I don’t remember the day we reached 3..
Three degrees of global heating. They had said two was bad, but we got it even hotter. The seas won’t rise. My Mom told me that, it will never happen said Dad.
It’s all a blur. Running from the sea, trying to find homes in the hills. Millions crushed in the cities that were not on rivers…
They could have called it the great flood, but the papers said the sky was falling. What it meant was the rains and storms, so heavy they flattened towns in seconds, crops died. We started growing rice in paddy fields, it was the only way to get some sustenance in all the wet, dank weather.
Two years of hell passed. I was growing up and worked in the fields. All of the children worked. No schools, just back breaking work, bending and shoveling.
We hated it, but we were not polluting anymore. Life seemed to pause and take a breath…
Then the Mirohs came, an alien race. We saw their ship, huge, like a great storm cloud. They looked down at us. Like bugs we were to them. Then the killing started. The message, you didn’t care for your precious planet. So we will take it. Humanity is a pestilence. They put something in the water. Now no one can have children. In a hundred years or so…. We will be gone.
Will anyone remember us?
