I never really given much thought on how the world would end. It was something that came up from time to time whether by televangelist, reverends, survival preppers, media cover stories, and senile men and women wearing cardboards with the words in black or red ink: THE END IS NEAR! REPENT! But I never believed. Yes the world was dying. There were wars, famines, diseases and genocide.
The color green was in the eyes of man who saw what they wanted and took what they saw belonged to them. No matter the cost. Greed was the only lens they could focus and adjust. As the world changed, so did we: from the ordinary to the extraordinary. We were comfortable with our lives that the end of the world seemed so far away, a speck of light among infinite blackness. So far to reach, but we could felt its enigmatic presence.
The end of all life seemed trivial, when you’re living in the present, constantly reminded to remember the past, for those who don’t remember, are doomed to repeat it. We heard those words many times in our life that it was either lost in translation, or we grew desensitized that the meaning has no weight.
The world never forgot those it.
It had reminded us in the form of its decaying body, of letting go its ancient treasures as it whispered its pleas but…we didn’t listen. We thought we knew how the world was to end. Of fire and ice, melding its forces as one. We believed that the end would not end with a bang, shift and painless, but with a whimper, slow and agonizing.
No…there wasn’t a bang. There wasn’t a cry, there wasn’t anger or shock or pain, or a distant whimper. That is not the way the world ended…
…It was silence.