The end of the world wasn't sudden or surprising. In fact, you could argue, it had always been a work in progress—a cataclysmic destiny humans couldn't escape no matter how hard they tried, not once the wheels had been sent spinning. Not that many chose to try at all, content to live in the fantasy of paradise or the nightmare of day-to-day life.
From the moment history began, there was hatred among us all. Humans, it seemed, would never dwell together in peace.
But did it have to end as it did?
How many species had been completely wiped out, how many languages forgotten, how many harmful chemicals released into the environment before, finally, they tried to change their ways? How many warnings—the rising numbers of illnesses and infections— how many tragedies—racial based, gender based, hate based?
Their wars grew bigger and more violent, countries once thought allies turning against each other with accusations of unforgivable acts. The number of people drafted into those wars increased up until the final day.
They destoyed the world with their normalizations of chemicals and genetically altering anything they could think up in their twisted minds.
The end wasn't sudden, but the final straw was.
They destoyed everything with ignorance, and hatred, and weapons that should have never been forged in manufacturing companies that should have never been founded and then they left us to reap the consequences, to rebuild the world.
What remained of us.