“Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” - Hindu Scripture - J. Robert Oppenheimer

I had no plan, no future in mind but decay, which is of course the lifeblood of life on Earth, perhaps even the universe as you Homo Sapiens know it. Creation and destruction are merely shades within a scale, bleeding into each other. Perhaps there is a reason for that, but I have never been privy to that knowledge. Instead I, the grim reaper, reap that which is destroyed so more souls may come into being through the process of creation. You call it the circle of life. It is not as much a decision I make as it is an inevitability. I merely oversee the scale and nothing has ever occurred to make it bleed one way or another, until now. Overpopulation is not the problem, humanity is. Lust, greed, power, sloth, I am not sure which of the deadly sins holds the problem for why the creation of other species is hindered by the existence of people — perhaps it is all of them mixed together to create a perfect sinful curse cocktail on that rock you call Earth. Instead of harmony, the scales are in chaos, and I have no power to stop it. How is it one species has the power to fill the scale with that much blood? It is because of one unbearable truth. I know I claimed to be the grim reaper, but that is not true. The truth is that humanity is the grim reaper now. All of your science will not undo what was done, at least not within the next hundred years. It may even take a thousand for the scale to balance itself out, for the destruction to mix with creation instead of hindering it. The one percent on Earth now have more power to decide what is created and what is destroyed than I ever did. To have that much power must be a curse, an enviable one in some cases but always a curse. All of you run around like chickens with your heads cut off trying to find a solution to an unsolvable problem. The lifespan of humanity would always be short, but this is the first time that a species has destroyed itself, destroyed its own habitat for weak, short lived personal gain. The rest of the animals on Earth do not destroy their habitats for that reason, right? I do not know of any other species that do that. So, you all will die, and the many of Earth’s species will as well. The Earth will continue to spin. New species will rise from the ashes to inhabit a new global habitat. Theoretically, humanity could sit back, continue on this path, and let the problem solve itself. They could save themselves, and these species, and put the Earth on a different path, but I have yet to see any evidence of that. For now, I can only watch the scale.

If I tell you my side of the story you will think I am a superhero even in the wake of a city fallen. What could I even say? “I tried to stop it. They tricked me, they — they ruined me, now and forever.” I was the only one who could stop it, and I failed, but my failure is no excuse for what they did. I thought I was saving Mira, my child. They called me, saying they would kill her if I did not come, so I did. One second, she is in my arms, safe, and the next I am amongst this hellish debris that was once a great city. All my love for her, all I was willing to sacrifice for her, redirected in the form of unlimited power. The city never stood a chance. I cannot sense Mira no matter how much I cry out for her, tears streaming down my face like a stream descending down a mountain. I did not believe my reputation could be used as revenge, not against an insignificance such as myself. Rather, I never thought I would become important, and now I stand in the midst of a city, and many people, I helped destroy. I stand amidst ash, metal, concrete, mountains as high as the skyscrapers that once stood there, and I wonder what to do next. The thought of survivors stays off an even worse fate. No more death today, not even my own, I declare to myself. Instead, I pull myself together slowly but surely. I take deep breaths, shaky at first, and then I feel my power come back, the air tingling all around me, little atoms and molecules buzzing like supersonic flies. My mind is still on Mira, wondering if she is out there in the rubble somewhere I can reach. If I cannot — no, I will not think about that. Terra would not let her die, she probably took Mira once all my power was spent and I could not save her, collapsed amongst the rubble as useless as a rag doll. Why am I still alive? Maybe Terra has more plans for me, but I have yet to figure out what her endgame is. I played into her hands, and Mira is no safer than she was before. Mira. MIra. Mira. What have I done, will I ever be able to grasp the enormity of it? No. Instead, I sense another, breathing but barely clinging to life amongst the rocks. Somehow, they were left uncrushed, but now they are a damsel in distress. I fly to the spot where I sense them, the luckiest being in the city. Then I keep going, I will find as many as I can then I will focus all of my attention on killing Terra and saving Mira. Am I a superhero or not? Am I an idiot? Am I a fool for believing I could save someone? What would you have done? You tell me.

It is not comfortable here. Not the sounds, nor the vibrations of the Earth that I feel crawl over my skin as I adjust to this new reality. To most people’s surprise, this is my first time here, and though it may be a road well traveled for many, it is a road less traveled for me (Robert Frost). This is a territory wholly unfamiliar to me, and in every way beyond what I thought to be possible, and I am not alone. I sense someone following me as if they can touch me from afar, but I cannot see them. There are no mountains here, just pure un-forbidden landscape — endlessness — that makes me shudder. Above of me is only sky (John Lennon), bellow my bare feet is ground, hard but sandy at the same time — sandpaper like. At various moments I am starving or nauseous, dehydrated or drowning in sweat, burned or frozen, in pain or numb, barely crawling forward, angry and strung out or absolutely “done”, dreading the next step or screaming for the end, confused or stubborn. I am not going insane, I am simply uncomfortable. Of course, forms of discomfort are not entirely unfamiliar to any person, but to feel them all at once, in varying degrees, constantly, seems an impossible way to live. Yet, the most uncomfortable feeling of all is that someone watches me through all of this, waiting to appear. I feel judgement, perhaps some scorn, as I go through all these different feelings and sensation and yet nothing happens around me. The sky is blue, the air is neither humid nor dry, the ground is solid beneath my feet, and yet all these emotions flow through my like lightning; coming up from the ground only to disappear in the sky as if they never happened. I look like an insolent child, full of privilege. What are they waiting for? I do not know. Perhaps it is a grim reaper, ready to hack through me as if I am a mere pile of sawdust, insignificant. I go through this display, these moments of unrelenting tears, yelling, hopelessness, fear, exhaustion, different aspects of being human, yet I feel terribly alone, watched, judged. To me these are new sensations unjustly put upon me, yet I cannot realize one particularly valuable lesson; I am not alone. That person watching me has no judgement or scorn in their heart, no unjust feeling against me. They simply wait for me to wake up, to sit in my discomfort and own it, to walk in it as if I am made of steal, not unbreakable, just fixable. These feelings are not new, they are not random, they only require another step forward, an outstretched hand, a compassionate heart. Maybe one day I will feel the watcher’s compassion, accept that outstretched hand, but for now I sit in this desolate place, without understanding, and I lament myself.