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They gave us thirty years. Clean up the mess we started, or perish indefinitely.

We were already in too deep. Don’t get us wrong, we tried, we really did. I can’t imagine what could’ve gone wrong, though. Maybe it was too strong a change, or maybe it was just too fast. I’m sorry, I don’t know very much about what happened. Only bits. The days grew hotter and the storms were fiercer. Whatever, whoever, was left used massive greenhouses just to stay alive. The nights were completely black; the closest we got to stars was the rare plane, and sometimes the Visitors themselves. Every year, they would return to remind us: “You have twenty-five years to improve.” “You have seventeen years.” “You have fifteen.”

It wasn’t long before the evacuations began. My parents were one of the last to leave. It was for our own good, the Visitors said. We shouldn’t be afraid. Their colonies looked just like ours. Sure, the plant life would be different, but other than that, it would feel like we never left home.

After seven years, the planet was finally barren, and the Visitors deemed it uninhabitable. Thirty years after their first warning, Earth was destroyed, and the explosion could be seen for light-years.

An hour later, I was born.