Some would say that I was born in the saddest of times.
Our planet was nearing its end. The skies were permanently grey. The seas and rives ran black with slime, filled with dying fish, rotting animals.
The air was too corrupted to breathe, the water too lethal to drink.
Earth ver.7 had served its purpose.
A sad time indeed.
Yet in many ways I was fortunate to be born in the most wonderful of times. I was still young when the great Exodus to Earth ver.8 took place.
It was so new. Pure. Pristine. Clear blue skies, transparent lakes. The scent of roses and moss filling the air. None of us will forget the first breath we took here.
‘Paradise,’ my father exclaimed. ‘This is Paradise.’
That was centuries ago of course. The planet has lost most of its shine since then. My parents have long since ceased to be. My own days are running low.
Born in a sad time, dying in a sad time.
Some might see it that way.
Yet it is my joy to know that, even as I write, my great, great granddaughter Becka is currently leading the search for Earth ver.9.