Letter to the Future

This one's from a few months back.  Can't decide what to do with it.

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We know our civilization is different.  From the textbooks we read and study, we know humankind hasn’t always lived in tunnels.  The only time scholars gave any time or length of paper to burrowers, they spoke demeaningly of the inferior species—unintelligent and two dimensional with no hope of ever being truly sentient beings.  Actually, the old textbooks described the “modern man” as having evolved from apes and as being at the height of existence and learning.  Had these people known that they would evolve, in a sense, to be the lesser creatures, perhaps they’d have recognized the instinctive genius in taking cover beneath the ground.

Five billion years after the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, we have no religion.  The sun is dying, the human form no longer resembles painted images in relic churches, and we livelike demons cowering beneath Earth's crust.  Who could believe in a God whose doctrine teaches us that his love is undying like the sun, that we are beautiful, and to model ourselves after his glory, the glory of Jesus, and those holy angels?

Let me repeat that:  our sun is dying.  The only people who walk on the surface of the Earth are scientists conducting research on the rate of the sun’s deterioration and its effect on Earth’s surface.  There was a newfound respect for art from the renaissance because of the focus on the natural forces when humans first closed of the sun's toxic light.  Those images which remained may well have been humanity’s last look at the wind on an open sea, the sight of two lovers strolling under trees enjoying the afternoon sun.  For those reasons the Jardin Arenas were built to satisfy our innate desire for the green and blue Mother Nature created, by supplying artificial grasses and breezes.  These arenas have since become rundown; what we first loved because of its limited existence, we now feel has turned against us.  The public feels cheated by nature.  Instead our highways are decorated with vibrant graphic designs—the greater the distance from natural beauty, the better the art.

                                                             ~~~

“What are you after, here, Henderson?  Who’s your audience?  You write this like a message in a bottle to posterity.”

“This is a message to posterity.  Humans have survived all that is possible to survive.  What makes us so special that we are Earth’s finest, Earth’s final?”

“Oh come on.  Don’t pull your elitist accusations on me.  For the sake of the reamining population’s sanity we must adorate the present.  Start mentioning a possibility of future for humans and people see, first of all, your lack of credibility, and second, that the civility exhibited and instituted by the ROS will no sooner save us from annihilation than a bean from being eaten.  Do you want to remind them of that?”

“So don’t publish it, not yet atleast.  Put it in a safe place.  Even let it get lost, because if we as a race truly are limited in our days, I want some record of our existence.”

“You’ll have to take that request up with the ROS.  I’m a small-time newspaper editor.  You think I can communicate with extra-terrestrials?  Now go write me something I can publish.  Talk to Knorr about that baby factory for the future story he’s been researching, will you?”

                                                                  ~~~

The last remaining government is the ROS, shortened from the Reunification Organization for Survival.  It was founded by a group of environmentalists who offered the smartest power alternatives when the fossil fuel wells dried up three billion years ago.  For the majority of its existence the ROS was a beneficent, placid entity advising the global population on how to live with the Earth, not just on top of it.  It was the ROS who suggested air-fueled crafts that essentially bounced from building to building, eliminating the need for highways and increasing personal mobility.  There was such a high approval rating for the ROS that when they suggested relocating us underground, the public met the idea with very little disapproval.  The ROS claimed it could provide re-generated sunlight through a system of pipes and filters from the surface.  They argued we would be closer to the underground water reserves.  On the surface, our fresh water sources evaporated, creating a thick blanket of air, never precipitating, so when the ROS promised cool water, thinner air, and gentle sunlight the globe rejoiced and began building tunnels.

Today the ROS controls our diets, our sleep habits, our work places, and our national identities.  While on the surface the last reamining marks of national identity were minimal and defined solely by sports teams, here there are neither sports nor diversity because, over time, everything has become mixed together.  “America,” reads one textbook, “is the melting pot of the world, embracing all the ethnicities of the world in a microcosm of global unity which gives hope to the possibility of a future peace.”  The textbook correctly predicted peace and complete global unity, but at the price of progress.  The freedom of speech and press remain, but anyone with an idea for a better future admits that conflict is the only path.  Therefore change is sacrificed in the name of communal happiness.

                                                                      ~~~

“Welcome, Mr. Henderson.  My name is Wagner.  I’ve read your stuff and I must admit your examinations of the choices of the ROS are, well, none too kind.  Why should I put this in _some kind of box they'll send to SETI_ when you are so critical of what we do?”

“I wrote the truth of what I see.  You obviously can’t deny the organization’s actions, and I put them in perspective for the potential readers.  If what you say is correct about the final death of Earth, then the message will reach its intended audience long after the end of ROS.  Therefore the ROS will suffer no consequences, no humiliation.  If, then, you still wish it to be unread then you represent the ROS as an organization concerned with its reputation.  Juvenile, I’d say.”

“My, what heavy accusations.  I can take your manuscript before the board, but I don't think they'll take your voice in this piece too lightly, especially not your criticism of peace.”

“Let me go before the board when it comes up.  When my work, when my thoughts are in another’s hands, I like to defend myself.”

“Fair enough.  Thank you for your visit, Mr. Henderson.  Surely your work will go recognized.”

“And your time, chairman Wagner.”

                                                                          ~~~

Therefore it is in your hands I leave this piece of literature.  Make of it what you will, but know that you were not alone.  The humans, as we call ourselves, are a proud race.