Jan 23 2010

The Last Seven Days of Creation

Published by under Quotations

On the morning of the first day, man decided to be free and good, beautiful and happy. No longer the image of a God, but a man. And because he had to believe something, he believed in freedom and happiness, in numbers and quantities, in the stock exchange and in progress, in planning and in his security.  Because he had filled the ground at his feet with rockets and nuclear warheads, for his security.

On the second day, the fish in the waters of industry died. The birds died from the powder from the chemical factory, which was supposed to be for the caterpillars. The rabbits died from the clouds of lead from the streets. The dogs died from the beautiful red colour of the saveloys. The herrings died from the oil on the sea and from the rubbish on the ocean floor. For the rubbish was active.

On the third day, the grass on the fields, the leaves on the trees, the moss on the rocks, and the flowers in the gardens all died. For man now made the weather himself and distributed rain according to an exact plan. There was only a small error in the computer that distributed the rain. By the time they found the error, the barges were already lying on the dry riverbed of the beautiful Rhine.

On the fourth day, three of the four billion people died. Some from the diseases that man had developed, because someone forgot to close the containers that were standing ready for the next war. And their medications didn’t help. They had already been used for too long in skin cream and pork loin. The others died from hunger, because some of them had hidden the key to the grain silos. And they cursed God, who after all owed them their happiness.

On the fifth day, the last people pressed the red button, because they felt threatened. Fire enveloped the earth, the mountains burned, the seas boiled, and the concrete skeletons in the cities stood black and smoking. And the angels in heaven saw how the blue planet turned red, then dirty brown and finally ash grey. And they interrupted their singing for ten minutes.

On the sixth day, the lights went out. Dust and ashes enveloped the sun, the moon and the stars. And the last cockroach that had survived in a missile bunker died from the excessive warmth, which didn’t suit it at all well.

On the seventh day there was rest. Finally. The earth was without form and void, and there was darkness over the tears and splits that had sprung up over the dry crust of the earth. And the spirit of the humans flittered about like a dead ghost over the chaos.

Way below, in hell, they told the thrilling story of how humans took the future in their own hands, and the roar of laughter rose right up to the choirs of angels.

Original by Jörg Zink. Translated by Laurie Chisholm.

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