Departure

 I originally wrote this for a competition based on the Apocalypse. However, it wasn't selected (not that I'm bitter or anything, of course) and so I've had it knocking around in the drawer for a little while. This seemed like a good time to dust it off and stick it up, to see if I can get any feedback on it for future reference.

Our world is over.

 I stand in line with my friends as we inch our way forwards, heading towards the towering monstrosity of the rocket. Conversation is muted, heads are bowed. I feel a pang of envy for the small family groups huddled together. At least they have each other. I glance at my friends. As far as we’re aware, we’re the only ones to survive the attack on our village. These few metres are the last our feet will ever touch of the soil of our homeland. Soon, everything we’ve ever known will just be a memory.

 A child is crying nearby. His mother tries to comfort him, casting anxious glances at the armoured guards who watch us, uncaring, from behind their gas-masks. We don’t have any masks, or any armour. But then, we don’t need it, not yet. The mother tries to assure her child that it will be fun, an adventure. A brand-new world to live on. As if we had a choice.

 Already the air is nearly un-breathable. By now the trees should be lush, full of vibrant leaves and heavy fruit. Instead, the forests and fields bare only stunted and withered fruit. There are hardly any birds in the sky, and I can’t remember the last time I saw an insect other than the clouds of flies which hover over the piles of refuse which litter the streets.

 My thoughts cycle back to Awen. Where is he, my wayward, freedom-fighter brother? Mother always said that he’d end up in trouble, and now look at him. On the run, missing, fighting for a cause which was over almost before it began. There are still rumours, of course. Alien convoys being attacked, machines destroyed, settlements torn apart. Some call them rebels, others terrorists. But everyone knows that, ultimately, any form of resistance is futile.

 We’re on the ship now, wedged into our seats. It wasn’t built for comfort or luxury, just to get as many of us off the planet as quickly as possible. There’s no room to move, no space to stretch. I’m lucky, I suppose, as my seat is immediately below one of the few, tiny windows. If I crane my head upwards, I can see the sky, clear for once. The storms created by the invaders’ machines have settled down, finally. But I don’t want to watch.

 The day they came was just like any other. There were no thunderous clouds, no earthquakes. There were no mysterious flights of birds or signs in the sky. There was no warning at all. On a day just like any other, with the same chores and duties, the same joys and pleasures, the sky simply opened up, and the silver ships fell from the sky.

 The nearest ship- a silver sphere that shone in the afternoon light like a second moon- landed in the mountains, far enough away that they didn’t reach our village until two days later. By then a search party had been set out to investigate the plumes of smoke which had begun to rise on the horizon.

 The strangers simply walked into our village that morning, clad in their shining armour, riding their thunderous machines that crawled across the ground and glided through the air, and carrying their unfathomable weapons. The younger children thought that they were angels, or fairies, or gods. The older grownups, with heir superstations and their distrust of anything new, thought that they were demons. I just remember that they were the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen.

 Micca- my father’s cousin- approached them first. Most of the younger men were out hunting, and Micca is- Micca was- always brave. Brave and stupid. But he tried to approach the strangers with something approaching peace. He stood in front of them, his hands empty and open at his side, and gave them a brief, curt nod.

 And the first stranger, their leader, looked down at him. He didn’t speak. He hardly moved. His featureless face stared into Micca’s eyes. And then he raised his hand, and my father’s cousin fell to the ground, dead.

 People began running and screaming then, ducking into their homes or sprinting into the forest, seeking safety wherever they could. Mothers made a grab for children as their husbands seized axes and knives. Animals howled and babies wailed. Others just stood there, paralyzed. I think that on some level they already knew the truth. No matter what we did, no matter how hard we fought or how fast we ran, it was over. The strangers had won.

 Tremors run through the cabin as the engines ignite, shaking us to our bones as the massive ship lifts off from the ground. Time begins to move faster. I close my eyes against the hum, ignoring the cries of fear and despair that erupt into the air all around me. For the first time, it all becomes real. This is happening. And there’s no going back.

 The girl sat beside me takes hold of my wrist. I don’t know her name; we’ve never met before. But I shift my hand round, lacing my fingers between hers and squeezing her hand. Beneath the roar of the engines I hear a slow hiss of air as she sighs. I doesn’t matter that we’re strangers.

Finally, I open my eyes, and take one final look out of the window at the only home I’ve ever known. As the world grows further away, I see the massive fires which burn from the titanic machines that lie in a loose ring around our planet. This is the first stage. They’re burning away the atmosphere, making it breathable for them. Soon, the air will be pure. Soon, they won’t need the masks and armour to live walk on the surface of the world they stole from us.

 And then the next stage will begin. The new atmosphere will be poisonous to any plants or animals left on the surface. They’ll wither and die, leaving a rich layer of topsoil for the new inhabitants to build their own ecosystems on. New plants will be grown, new animals introduced. The final settlers will arrive, and start building their cities. The machines will be packed up and sent onto another world, and another.

  This is the way it is. Not just here, but right across the galaxy. All worlds belong to them, and the local populations are either exterminated or shipped off to colonies on other, less desirable, worlds. And for that small mercy, we should be grateful. We get to spend the rest of our lives on an alien planet, among other refugees from other earths, all under the watchful eyes of the dominant species in the galaxy.

 Soon, there will be nothing left of the world we knew. Soon, it will all belong to the humans.