I jolted awake from a brief nap, my heart pounding. Though exhausted from sleep deprivation, I could never rest for more than forty minutes at a time. But this time, something felt different. It was as if I had been pulled five hundred years forward, into the distant future—2600 AD. The sensation was unsettling, a disorientation beyond mere dreams.
The world around me felt unfamiliar, shifting, dissolving into something intangible yet vivid. And then, I was not alone.
I found myself among people from this distant age. They were unlike anyone I had ever encountered—calm yet piercing in their gaze, their words measured yet heavy with meaning. I, driven by curiosity, introduced myself.
“I come from an era when certain individuals shaped the world—visionaries in science, politics, art, and industry. Some of them were revered as superstars, others as leaders, pioneers, revolutionaries.” I mentioned the great stories of my time—films that had shaped cultures, athletes who had defied limits, entrepreneurs who had redefined progress. I expected recognition, perhaps admiration.
Instead, I was met with silence.
None of the names meant anything to them. None of the stories resonated. What had once seemed monumental, immortal even, had vanished without a trace. The weight of centuries had erased them as if they had never been.
And then, they asked me a question that shook me to my core:
“What did your generation do to the Earth in the 21st century—and why?”
I frowned, not fully understanding. They elaborated:
“That was the century of the greatest exploitation. That was when Earth was stripped bare, forests erased at an unprecedented rate, oceans turned into graveyards of waste, glaciers melted faster than ever before. Why did you allow this to happen? Did you not realize that future generations—including your own descendants—would have to suffer the consequences? Did you not love your own children? How could you be so reckless, devouring the planet’s resources without regard for those who would come after you? What drove you to such destruction?”
I was speechless. How does one defend an entire era? How does one justify collective apathy?
Struggling for words, I muttered, “There were corporations… institutions… forces that profited from these resources.”
“Profited?” they echoed. “What kind of profit?”
I hesitated. “Billions… trillions… wealth beyond measure.”
Their confusion deepened. “What was the purpose of hoarding such wealth? Was life so expensive that survival required billions and trillions?”
I sighed. “No, that wasn’t the case.”
“Then why? Why did they crave so much wealth? What did they plan to do with it?”
“They wanted it for themselves.”
“For themselves?” Their eyes darkened. “Were they unaware that they, too, would die one day?”
“They knew,” I whispered.
“Then? Did they have a backup plan? A parallel life on another planet? A way to reverse the damage they inflicted on Earth? Did they even try?”
Their voices grew sharper, their patience thin.
“Do you even realize what your generation did? Glaciers melted, oceans turned toxic, countless species vanished forever—while people, in their blind pursuit of power and luxury, set fire to their own home. Was your generation the most foolish in human history?”
Desperately, I tried to defend our time. “But that was also the era of maximum technological progress!”
They scoffed. “And in the name of progress, you destroyed the planet. How idiotic. You were the culprits. Shame on you. Look at the scarcity and suffering we endure today—it is all because of your greed, your ignorance, your selfishness.”
Their words cut through me like a blade. I could not deny it. The evidence was overwhelming—records of lost species, submerged coastlines, lands turned to wastelands.
“Did your generation even grasp the vastness of the universe?” one of them asked, softer this time.
I nodded. “Yes, we measured it—about 93 billion light-years across.”
They laughed bitterly. “And yet, you thought yourselves the masters of it all?”
I had no answer.
The world around me blurred, the figures fading like echoes across time. I snapped out of my thoughts, my breath uneven, my mind heavy. Had I truly glimpsed the future? Had I truly been confronted by those who would inherit what we left behind?
Perhaps it had only been a dream.
But the weight of their words remained. And I knew—whether real or imagined—that the question they asked was one we could not ignore forever.
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