A long story-poem (storoem) about Mankind's fate in 2222.... |
The year is twenty-two twenty-two in our Earth time. Two good friends and neighbors, John and Oortiid374 are discussing world events. “Oort, do you believe all will be fine? You Trakiclons have taken so much wood and always demand more. Your race has lived in America peacefully for sixty years, ever since Arrival Day, and we have looked the other way while your kind harvested all South America’s forests. Our fears are that all our national forests will be next, even though we may consider North America sacred land as guaranteed by signed treaty.” Oortiid flared his gills and filled his four lungs with sweet Earth air. “John, I admit that bad times are coming. My planet is so needy. For thousands of years my race has plundered distant worlds with fair regard for that world’s history. The unbreakable Prime Directive of the Galactic Federation is no harm must be visited on any planet’s race that lives in peace and harmony. Violence and plundering can be condoned only in worlds where such behaviors have been commonplace. We Trakiclons came to Earth with an approved Hundred-Year Plan to harvest all the wood from first South America, then from North. Wood is among the rarest commodities in the universe. Understand to us it is more precious than gold is on Earth. Yours is only the fourth world discovered with a supply of wood. We adorn our bodies and domiciles with wooden objects. Your nation was wise enough to preserve, to conserve all its remaining forests as national treasures 100 years ago. I have to smile. Conserving these forests has doomed your civilization, while it will serve our world well. John, I fear that once the enslaved earthlings left alive in South America have the wood plantations there well-tended, then we Trakiclons will migrate north. Your race will get angry, but cannot win the war to come. With our technological superiority it will seem to be a sin the way our laser rifles and photon cannons easily slaughter all your brave soldiers. We will have no remorse. There is a saying “The only good earthling is a vaporized earthling.” My race considers Mankind little more than apes -- dirty, primitive. However, out of friendship I really should confide that I myself see many worthwhile and noble qualities in Man. But, this war is inevitable, and you must lose. All of the survivors will be moved to a reservation in the desert southwest, where, if you can make a life there, you may survive as a race. It’s truly tragic! Still Mankind has only himself to blame. From the time of Alexander, Caesar, Genghis Khan, Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin, to the Middle East War, each scar on history, every act of genocide, enslavement, and torture brought nearer your fate. My friend, it’s poetic justice … delivered to Man from the stars.” Please visit my website: http://www.gillelands.com/poetry/ |