Long after we’ve disappeared, a torn sheet of clear plastic will dance in the twirling winds amidst the fallen leaves. In deserted streets, empty buildings, in the pale blue light of a moonbeam, will echo the eerie ghost of our silence.

For centuries, each day, slightly more broken, our shadow will fade out, tormented and lost amongst the elements. In the cold debris of a past species will fly its wild creation, trapped in a hopeless time. While corpses decay and return to naught, the curse of plastic remains. Humankind cannot yet lie forgotten when plastic is carried into Aeolus’ furious arabesques under starry heavens.

In the cold dead night, when all souls have gone out, the moon will still shine on the torn shadow of our last failed attempt at eternity.