The Oracle's Warning

Forgive me, humanity, for I am an oracle. I’ve told you time and time again when your own hourglasses will drop their last grains of sand. You all rebel against my stories. You pour water on the campfire and call it all hogwash. You decide to listen to the chirping of crickets instead of the thunder of my sky.

I understand why you refuse to believe me and my loud mouth. It is not a walk in the park to hear about the world without you and how weak your last breaths will be compared to the everyday whistling of the mindless wind. No one wants to suffer for nothing. Everyone wants to be rewarded for their efforts. You all spend your lives climbing whatever ladder appears in your dreams.

It is hard to accept how little it matters how high you climb. The sky is not your domain, humanity. There’s a reason why poets sing songs about birds. You all are the sons and daughters and children of the dirt and grass. Every death is a homecoming.

I will die when my stories stop hopping out of my mouth. I come from the dirt but my stories are the sky’s clouds shrouding my eyes with wet blindness. I cannot see clearly until I talk them all away. The only difference between me and you, humanity, are these clouds that cover me. I cannot stop making them and they cannot stop crowding me.

You will hear your story whether you like it or not. Many will not listen to the words of warning. Even more of you will react by running from your fortune, despite being in a world that is round. I cannot change your stories. All I can do is breathe in and out. All you can do is accept it.