Listen, if you have the ears to hear.
The Wind is speaking again.
“…the Universe, at present, contains billions upon billions of spiral galaxies. In one of them, one-third from the edge, is a medium-sized star…”
Only a small, blackened wisp. If you have the eyes to see it. Or the heart to care.
“…and one of its satellites, a green and insignificant planet…”
Blank, white, glaring.
“…is now dead.”
Silence.
There is nothing more. There is nothing left.
It is as it was in the Beginning.
Wasteland.