'Dear Earth'

Note: This story is purely fictional. It's a sort of a 'follow-up' to the Writing Workshop topic we had last week. Enjoy!

A paper airplane glided its way to places unknown, guided only by the wind. It traveled across countries, continents, and oceans; finding its way straight onto the lap of Gaia, or Mother Earth, slumbering beneath the Earth's crust. Distracted by the sudden change in pressure, she opened up her bouldery eyes, and ever so slowly reached for the microscopic object to avoid any tremors up on the surface of the Earth. With the help of critters residing inside the being's body, she carefully unfolded the paper airplane and found a letter in its place. She examined the piece of paper, its writings heavily distorted, but still readable. The being, too curious to continue her peaceful slumber, started to read the contents of the letter, wondering how it could have landed straight onto the lap of a titan:

'Dear World,'

'World'? No being - neither god nor mortal - had called her with such a name in a very long time. Has Fate predestined such an occasion? Curiosity beckoned for her to read on.

'You stink.'

She didn't flinch. For once, experience had taught her self-control, especially when facing criticism from mere mortals. The titan read on.

'I'm sorry for being such a prude, but it's true, right? The world is just so sick, it bugs me why we'd even want to live like this in the first place. I mean there's: war, famine, pollution, illegal logging, pirating, crime, greed, corruption, and the list goes on and on.'

The god wasn't surprised. Why would she?

'What have you been doing?! This is your job! Haven't you heard the trees crying for you as illegal loggers tear them down limb from limb? Did you look the other way when the animals shout for you as they were 'force-fed' with hot lead? What about the children, killed by the immature decisions of their irresponsible parents?'

The giant grinned. She couldn't stop thinking of Pandora and her accursed box.

'World, if you don't change shortly, I really think we're all gonna die. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother looking up at the sky. It's no longer blue and peaceful; gray clouds surround the heavens as acid rain pelt down, destroying everything in its path. Death lingers everywhere.

Who's your boss, anyway? And why hasn't he fired you yet? You're doing such a 'swell' job.

Eddie'

The letter ended there, and what followed were small drawings of the world through the child's eyes. They were colorful, but one can easily notice a tone of annoyance and anger in each of the kid's sketches. He's no artist, though, that's for sure.

Gaia read the letter over and over again, holding on to each word ever so intently as if they were her very own offspring. The letter wasn't directly meant for her, but as fate would have it, she felt somewhat lucky to have read the letter. The titan tried to find its hidden meaning, assuming the sender wasn't a kid. But she found none. The letter was just too naive, too innocent. Gaia dug a small hole on the palm of her hand and buried the letter, allowing it to become a part of the Earth again. Grinning, she closed her eyes and dozed off.

'Humans.'

- - - -

Caught off guard, Eddie picked up a piece of paper that had somehow struck his head and bounced off to the pavement. Looking around, he realized no one was near enough to throw a ball of paper at him, not in this kind of wind. Nevertheless, he picked the paper and examined it; it's a note, smaller than a page of one of his books. Strangely, it had a distinct smell of wet dirt on it, and its appearance was just the same, as if someone had buried it before it was thrown at him. The message was, in bold letters:

"It's not my job!"

'What?' Ed thought, as he crumpled the paper into a ball again and tossed it over his shoulder. The crumpled up piece of paper landed softly on the concrete sidewalk, producing no sound. The kid walked away, failing to notice that, in place of the note he just threw, was a clump of dirt.