The world is at its end. Across the sunlit sky, imbued with searing reds and ominous oranges, takes me aback to a memory from childhood of a blistering, soothing hot summer day at the beach in June, but at a thousand fold.

Everything that was alive is now dead, withered and wasted from decades and millennias of the perpetual life giving sun. Is this really the end or the beginning of nothingness?

Everything is desolate—from the hundreds of millions of people to the once grand nurturing rainforests of the world—now nothing! Did we ever stand a chance? “Shoulda…coulda…woulda,” suddenly comes to mind. So bleak, so sad, so much despair…what could I have done to make things turn out for the better?


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