The Approaching Crowd

The people often wondered what would happen to their world if the unthinkable were to happen, if they all became extinct. They pondered and imagined and wrote books and produced movies about how their world would change. What would survive, what would thrive, and what would wither away and die without their influence? But as the end drew near, they stopped pondering and imagining, focusing instead on continuing to exist. It worked, they did not die off; instead they moved away, forced out by their own greed and eons of short-sightedness. It seemed amazing that they could be short-sited for eons, but somehow they accomplished it. They destroyed their world, and then they left, presumably to find a new world to destroy.

The New World couldn’t possibly be prepared for what was about to happen, this approaching crowd of destruction that would soon overwhelm it, and The Old World felt sorry for it, but only a little. Really The Old World was glad to be done with the people, the scourge that had plagued it for far too long. It hoped the people would never come back, but hoping wasn’t enough, no, not with these people. They were too determined, they were too destructive. The Old World knew it needed to do more. Even though it was ravaged, virtually uninhabitable, the people may still return, especially as time marched on and the damage healed, they may come back to hurt it again.

The Old World knew it needed to protect itself, but how? After all, it was a planet, governed by the rules of the universe; it did not have a lot of options here. The only choice was to use the little resources it had left, those the people did not destroy. So it continued to spin, and it continued to orbit, and it continued to encourage the little life that was left to grow. Yes, the blackberry bushes, one of the hardiest plants The Old World had fostered, one even the people had not managed to eradicate, started to grow. They spread out their spikey tendrils over crumbling buildings and toxic soil, slowly reclaiming all the traces of the people. Their progress was almost unnoticeable at first, after all, the environment that was left was not really habitable for anything, but they were survivors, and they managed. They dug their roots deep underground, much deeper than their ancestors had, and they found the little water that was left, and they grew and grew. Time marched on, and bit by bit The Old World was transformed. Even from space it was noticeable, no longer the brown dusty orb the people had left, now it was green, resembling something fuzzy and soft, but The Old World was secure in the knowledge that if any of the people were to come back, they would find not the fuzzy ball that appeared from space, but instead the spiky, angry, protective berry bushes that held The Old World tight in a comforting embrace.