I don't care what the stars say about how small we are. One, even the smallest, weakest, most insignificant one, matters.
We are the hunters---and we are also the bait.
How do you rid the Earth of humans? Rid the humans of their humanity.
It's like a cockroach working up a plan to defeat the shoe on its way down to crush it.
Perhaps that is our doom, our human curse, to never really know one another.
It's almost dawn. You can feel it coming. The world holds its breath, because there's really no guarantee that the sun will rise. That there was a yesterday doesn't mean there will be a tomorrow.