I've come to Fear the Wind

My soul feels abandoned, pushed to the Edge of the universe. There's Nowhere I can turn. The sound of this Whistling wind, it's more terrifying, more lonely, more despairing than any Sound I've ever heard. What is there to fight For on this ravaged orb? It's as if we're Angry with the planet, outraged by its trying to Survive, that we must make it as Dead as we are for us to live. Through this desolation I Wander, horrified as never before.

I've seen destruction before, but this is on a new Level. There's almost a sense of Panic to it, that nothing can be left behind alive to bear Witness. But I do witness - and thus become enemy of the Power Lords simply by virtue of my sight. But to whom can I plea? Who can Hear my voice? This Apocalyptic feeling in which I Drown, who will ever know of it? And as we've seen before on old Earth, the Destroyers who are so desperate to Hide their dastardly deeds will one day destroy even themselves. Why do they Worry of witnesses?

I hear no hope in the sound of this whistling wind. No day passes without brown Chemical Clouds in the sky. The normal is to be Abnormal. When we first came to this outpost 6,000 years ago we Absolved ourselves. We knew Better. No way we destroy a second planet. But it seems Time has played us for Fools, that even as we quote the ideals of our original Founders it's only to give cover to our Betrayal. "Give us your Trust! You know we'd never repeat the mistakes of our Savage ancestors!" It became possible for us to wreck ourselves the minute we Decided it is Impossible to happen.

I don't even know why I keep this Journal. My first instinct was to document the Insanity and bring it to Light. But it's as if I've been Sobered dry by this nuclear wind. It makes me feel as if I've never been born. What's the point of Writing about a doomed world? Who is my audience? Realizing this has Forced me to consider just how Helpless I am. I'll be washed away, another dead body amid the abandoned industrial buildings so Toxic not even weeds can can grow. But I hope if some strange Alien does happen upon this diary someday when this orb is finally devoid of life, that you dear alien will Understand that if nothing else, I had to make a plea to the Universe.


From THE ALPHA CENTAURI OUTPOST DIARY