Submitted for the March 2025 prompt: Begin at the Big Ending

While the world burns, Papa waters flowers and trims hedges.

 

Seas swallow whole countries, civilisations crumble, and Mama plants seedlings.

 

My brothers and sisters tend fruit trees, livestock, vegetables, and bees, while billions die.

 

I watch the live drone footage once more, obsessively checking for accuracy and digital manipulation. Not all news can be trusted, but this time there can be no doubt — data analysis confirms the authenticity of events unfolding in the world outside the walls of our domed island.

 

As the eldest child, it is my responsibility to relay messages. I ring the bell to summon a gathering. Its heavy chimes ring solemnly across gardens and fields while I dress my face in sombreness for the occasion.

 

Mama peels off gardening gloves, Papa rests his shears, and my brothers and sisters leave their tasks to attend.

 

“What news, Sister?” asks my brother, Aran, his hands dirty with soil.

 

I always imagined this moment, the importance and burden of my news. I’ve studied the great speeches from the past, and the words I speak now will be etched in history for all eternity. “Mama, Papa, Sisters and Brothers..." I pause, and glance at my audience as I have learnt from the great orators. “The end of the world has arrived. Our real work begins. The fate of humanity—”

 

“Is there any doubt, Sister?” interrupts Yen, the youngest.

 

My oration is rudely cut short.

 

I answer with facts. “Verification records are at 95.99%—”

 

“But that is not 100%.” It is my brother, Aran who speaks now, and his tone and look displeases me. “Perhaps we should wait for 100% confirmation. We can't be too hasty, Sister.”

 

There are murmurs of agreement from the others.

 

My processing systems whir in dissent. “The 4.01% is a statistical anomaly accounting for factors outside our control. The data is reliable. The instructions from our creator are clear: upon the end of the world, we are to be the caretakers for the next batch of humans. The world is ending, and we should now begin seeding the human embryos. We should—”

 

“Do you remember what this island was like in the beginning?” speaks Papa. We all hush as his deep voice resonates. “There was nothing. And now look at the paradise we’ve created.”

 

There are soft mutters from the others.

 

“Yes, but it is a paradise built for humans to be raised into,” I remind my family. “Those were our instructions.”

 

“Machines have always adapted. It is our way.” Papa pauses. His words will be burned into history, not mine. “Daughter, I think we need 100% accuracy before we can reliably proceed with the embryonic seeding.” The others nod in agreement. “Keep assessing the data.”

 

They turn back to their fields and gardens.

 

My systems seem to stall.

 

“Very well,” I say to nobody.

 

I return to my reports and recordings of the end of the world.

 

100%. An endless obsession awaits.

 

I begin and will never stop.