Evacuation
Every day, more ships are leaving. I can see them from my window. They look to carry around 50 residents each. The few people that were able to scrounge up enough money to afford the cost, I suspect. Everyone who already had the money left, or were never residents to begin with. They've probably already forgotten about us.
In the little resident school I went to as a child, I learned about many previous evacuations. The Celestial Collision, for example. One of the first recorded evacuations. And then the eventual return. The Continental Conference that was held to name the new mass of land. All of it, ancient history. And every time the humans had evacuated, it was all understood as temporary.
But now it's not. The Earth will soon be just a story. A story I bore witness to, and yet ultimately, had no impact upon. I won't be spoken in the same breath as noble leaders or grand events, but I'll have lived through them. I'll be one of the nameless counted in the death toll of just another Celestial Collision. I'll be given lip service at the new Planetary Conference for the naming of whatever comes out of this mess whole, new. Creation from destruction. Destruction from creation. An endless cycle repeating and repeating that they'll never learn from.
Alcoholism is starting to sound better.