The year 2100. After the severe pandemic, humans had to find ways to live on other planets. Those who managed to accumulate power were able to leave the earth and see how it disintegrated. Those who remained inside went crazy, then dust, then nothing. Men, in their eagerness to conquer, built fortresses, individual factories, always remembering the reason for the great pandemic that had destroyed the earth: physical contact. So everyone made their own ship or their own planet to keep their distance.

At first they felt safe, but little by little they began to realize that every planet, every ship, began to move. Panic set in. Like magnets, they were attracted to each other, without any resistance. Every day, inch by inch, all the dials were moving: a sudden wind through the moss of the mechanical clock caused the hands to start turning. Outside the planets and the ships, the stars were colliding with salt water and fire. Impenetrable marshes, crumbling sand and lime.

Now they lie there, among the rubble, the ships and the planets, without any survivors, turned into a luminous graveyard. Man wanted to believe himself alone and dark in the universe without realizing that each thing, each being, has its center of gravity and we cannot be separated.

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This story is my participation in the @xpilar contest, which consists of a digital image created by @xpilar that invites us to create a story. If you want to participate, you can read here

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UNTIL THE NEXT READING, FOLKS