Time was irrelevant.
We thought time would give us hope – but it didn’t.
We’d become godless, we thought we were gods, but time saw to that.
It became apparent that the scientists were right – when the ocean gave up its dead. No longer did the choked seas harbour a food source safe enough to eat. Presidents and Ministers and affluence, the gods of our world, had mocked the warnings. They’d ploughed through fields and homesteads and sacred ground to plunder from that which gave us life. They’d buried pipes and channels deep beneath the hallowed mantle before draining it dry. The skies showered invisible rain full of unseen toxins through manufactured billowing clouds. Forests and jungles lay slaughtered to make way for ever growing consumption and herds of fat, cash-driven bovines, without a thought for how we’d breathe.
So, when the cracks appeared, fracking across our lands, time was spent.
The gods of our world had drowned and poisoned and suffocated us, and we’d let them.
Time, when we were gone – eradicated from the surface of this glorious orb – was of no consequence to us.
But to Mother Earth, time is everything.
Time is relevant.
Jumping in with another Flash Fiction Challenge from Miranda at Finding Clarity. This image of a clock tower in Finale Emilia, Italy, appeared uncredited in Newspapers after an earthquake which struck the area May 20, 2012.
Write up to 750 words, inspired by the image posted.