Columns

As in a nightmare he woke to a wasteland—he was alone—for all he knew he was the last human being left on Earth—and when he died the sound of the human voice would never be heard in the Cosmos again—and for his remaining days he had to live with the horror of that thought foremost in his mind—but he had already lived through the death of birth of our species, and so he was resigned to his and our species fate—what could the meaning of his life be now that he was the sole survivor of our species?  

Only to somehow communicate a warning to the next sentient beings to inhabit or to visit the planet—but how? He would write it down and then seal it in a vessel in a cave, where it would last for thousands of years, long enough to be discovered, if ever—when it was done, he lay down and died—is it too late for us? The answer is in each of us—in what each of us is willing to sacrifice so that our species may survive the holocaust which is upon us—without sacrifice the death of birth of our species is upon us.