When the Last World Dies

And so, it ended. The people were dead. The world was destroyed. Whether by greed or misfortune, conspiracy or coincidence, nothing remained.

Unlike the last few, this destruction, this decimation, spawned from good intentions. The planet became overpopulated, leading to shortages from food to shelter. Only those at the top of the social hierarchy had enough to live off, and even that was edging the line between life and death. Without some sort of change, the people would’ve destroyed themselves – murdering, cannibalizing, whatever it took to survive.

A group of researchers set out to accomplish this task, using any means at their disposal. Their solution? Increase the surface area of the planet through some sort of unknown magic or science. An impossible, crazy solution. After all, who would believe so complicated it was outside the realm of logic. And yet, somehow, they made the impossible possible, causing the planet to grow an inch every minute.

At first, all seemed well. More land meant more area to grow food, build houses, and make tools. There were a few bugs here and there, a GPS slightly off from its destination or a pendulum clock swinging slightly too fast, but all in all, the people were beginning to stabilize. They weren’t happy yet, but at least they were no longer starving.

Tick.

At least until the cracks started to emerge. Quite literally, in fact.

A few years after the initial expansion, bridges and roads which had been in place for hundreds of years started to break apart. Power and water slowly became more and more unreliable as satellites crashed from the sky every other month. At first, people wrote it off as no big deal. What was broken could always be fixed. It wasn’t as if anything collapsed; it simply needed a bit more maintenance every once in a while.

Tick.

But that attitude didn’t last long. Every year, the cracks grew more and more, straining the already fragile stability the people had. The next year, the first building collapsed. The year after that, millions followed. Even crops began to fail as their roots were torn apart from the constantly shifting dirt. In only ten years, the world had fallen back to the brink of collapse.

Morale plummeted as the people felt the weight pushing on their shoulders. Their greatest thinkers had given them hope only to snatch it away. Moreover, the process was irreversible, meaning the world would continue down this deadly path. It wasn’t long before their bodies broke under the pressure, collapsing to the floor. At that point, the gravity had become too strong for even the strongest humans to walk. Their muscles and bones flattened as they were squished against the ever-expanding ground.

Tick.

That led me to now, leaning against this half-torn wall, barely conscious as the ground crumbled into the super-mass below. The world was in its final stage of life, imploding from its over abundance of mass. The moon, which once shone brightly in the sky, had broken into concentric rings, orbiting the planet. Meteor showers became an everyday occurrence, glowing terrifyingly as they fell, not that any person was around to witness it.

And so, dear viewer, watching from your safe haven far away, I had a question I would like you to answer.

Well two.

Actually, three.

I had asked many times before, but you never gave me a response. Sure, you might have some circumstances that prevent you from doing so, but it would be nice if, just once, I could at least have some indication.

Tick.

What am I?

My wooden arms and legs creaked as they moved, glistening with an unreal sheen. The gears making up my neurons clicked with every action I made. In some worlds, I looked like a puppet, and in others, I closely resembled a person. And yet in every one, the clocks in my golden eyes ticked down towards the world’s destruction – the left showing the months and days, the right displaying the hours, minutes, and seconds. A paradoxical clockwork doll: one where I couldn’t exist but did, only appearing when there was no other path left to take.

Tick.

Why am I here?

This was the 532nd world I had witnessed, and the 532nd world to be obliterated. In the first few, I did my best to help as many people as I could. My inanimate constitution kept me alive far longer than a person, allowing me to rescue others and provide supplies. The next couple worlds, I pleaded with the strongest and wisest to save everyone. While some were amicable and others only cared for themselves, the majority simply wanted to experiment on me. That was fine as long as they held up their end of the deal. There were even a few where I took over, forcing every person to work towards my (their) survival. It didn’t matter how many I killed or how they felt. If at least one person survived, it would’ve been worth it.

And yet, no matter what I did, I couldn’t stop the evitable. Horrific expressions were plastered on those I had saved. Blood poured from the mad scientists from an experiment gone wrong. The citizens staged a coup, only to die a moment later. It didn’t take long for me to realize my role as an observer, powerless to do anything about the role I was forced into.

Tick.

Why do I have to live through this?

Why was I shown such chaos and anarchy? Why could I only exist past the point of annihilation, unable to prevent the cause? The stench of death no longer affected me. The etched, expressionless face had become my facade. People kept making the same choices, unaware of the history of worlds long extinct. It was as though they never learned, not that there was anything to learn when facing the unstoppable scythe racing towards your throat.

Tick.

It seems as though I’m out of time.

It was hard to tell how much was left when I couldn’t see my eyes, but my death tended to be a decent marker. The little bit of ground keeping me aloft crumbled beneath me. My shattered body fell along, pulled towards the expanding white mass.

Tick.

Where would I end up next? Would it be a futuristic world dealing with an alien invasion? Or maybe one full of magic fighting against a demon lord? Whatever it was, my fate would probably be the same.

Tick.

Still, I held out a tiny bit of hope. I never understood why, in these last moments, I believed I could survive in the next life. Maybe it was the only way to stay sane. Or maybe it was something else.

Tick.

Or maybe, as I stared up at the meteor-filled morning sky, watching the streaks of white cross the sea of red, orange, and yellow, there was only one thought in my mind.

It’s–

Tock.