Some said the world would end in fire, some said in ice. Some people even said with zombies. But no one could have known that this was how it all ended. No one could have known it would end so quietly. One moment, the world hummed along, people going about their lives, having their petty squabbles and making up. The sun rose in the east, and started setting in the west. Everything as usual.
But then, it all just, stopped. People froze in place, the sun stopped its transit across the sky. The trees were still as the wind died, and the oceans lay flat, not one ripple across the surface. It was a quiet the universe hadn’t seen in millennia, not since before the Bang that started it all.
The Earth hung, unmoving, still. It was unnatural. In a universe like ours, constantly moving, growing, expanding, changing, stillness was unheard of.
And yet, and yet. The Earth had stopped.
Was it an act of a greater being? Was it change in the laws of the universe? Was it the Earth itself, acting in self-defense, self-preservation? I am inclined to think the latter. The Earth knew its life was coming to a close; it knew that it couldn’t keep all the beings that depended on it alive. For all its efforts, the Earth’s inhabitants were set on destroying it, unable to see past their own noses. So maybe it stopped. If they couldn’t move forward, they couldn’t bring about its destruction, or their own.
Was it better to stop in place, not knowing anything had gone wrong, than to destroy the ground you stand on, to see the world around you crumble, to see your people starve and suffer and die? Was the Earth being merciful, stopping itself, its own growth and change, to spare the beings that lived on it?
How many other planets make that decision? How many beings out in the universe have frozen in space and time, never to move again, as their planets do the only thing they can? And how many, like me, are left adrift in space, sent in a last ditch effort to save their people, only to find planet after planet like their own, frozen, abandoned, lifeless? How long will I wander, how many planets will I walk, bearing witness to the still inhabitants?
I think back to my planet, my people. We thought we knew our world, thought we knew its secrets and how to save it. But we were too late, as were all these people I walk among. I think of my sister, playing with her baby in the grass in front of their house. I think of my parents, walking their dog, greeting neighbors. I think of my partner, watching the sky, waiting for me to come home. As I close my eyes, their figures haunt me, taunt me. They are still now, unaware that anything has happened, while I continue, awake, alive, knowing that I couldn’t save them. They are at peace, they are still, as I am propelled ever onward, looking for a planet that I can save.
But I wonder. Even if I find a planet that is still teaming with life, even if I feel a breeze again or have to navigate a crowd, will any of them believe me? Will I be able to convince anyone that there are many planets, just like theirs, and that some day, they too will cease to move, to grow, to live? Who would believe me? And even if they did, what could they do? How can we save a planet if it has already given up on its creations?
As I wander the still Earth, I am deafened by the silence. I am chilled by the still air. I grow increasingly aware that I am the only thing awake on this planet. But was the planet wrong to save itself and its lives? Was it better for all these creatures to stop in their lives, draw one last breath, and just not know they had stopped?
Some said the world would end in fire, some said in ice. But really, it stopped with stillness.
Inspired by a writing prompt from The Character Comma’s prompt generator.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020