Alternatively, these explorers might just leave this planet and cross it off as ‘dead’ on their maps and never wonder how Humanity lost its light. After all, the universe is scattered with countless stars all vying for the attention of anyone capable of exploring them.
So in this way why should the Earth be any more privileged than any other dead rock floating in the endless void?
Imagine a list complied somewhere and then put before a committee and each item on the list was a planet being considered for further investigation.
When these same explorers broaden their archaeological investigations further from their landing site they will probably be perplexed by the layers and layers of intertwined skeletons they will find surrounding every half-buried ruin for miles around. Skeletons that will likely take decades to separate so that the story of each single set of bones might be better understood.
Perhaps one of these skeletons will find itself painstakingly rebuilt one day in some distant museum somewhere and maybe the NotBeSpeak might somehow become aware of this rebuilding and be momentarily amused by the wondrous possibility that this very skeleton now on display might once have belonged to one of the humans charged with the destruction of a museum full of skeletons so lovingly rebuilt and displayed previously before they initiated Terminal Transit?
Once the pride of the city centre, Stephens Green Shopping Centre is now a festering pile of broken glass and looted shops. Pulled to the ground by a frenzied mob while shots were fired over their heads and water cannons set upon them, this site of civic consumerism now resembles a Renaissance painting depicting Hell in all its profane glory.
In millennia to come when brave explorers from another solar system land upon a non-responsive planet and start to look around they will find the Shopping Centre long-buried and over-grown and perhaps marvel at the possibility that a significant battle was fought at such an important-looking archaeological site.
The simple song of the NotBeSpeak is not something they will likely ever hear.
Carry on up to Stephens Green itself and the many ornamental ponds in this famous urban park that were once graced by ducks and swans and ringed by generations of families who set out to feed them are now simply silted with the by-products of Terminal Transit – corpses, broken shoes, empty prams, more corpses, crazed people who are trapped in the mud, splintered wood from ancient trees that stood tall but are now felled.
The end of the world is always a messy event and even once people no longer exist the planet is still going to be cluttered for the rest of time.
With the Provost’s House in front of you turn right and head up Grafton Street itself towards Stephens Green and all along the way there are now the shells of the shops that lined this prestigious thoroughfare.
Once smug Brown Thomas, the department store of choice, is now a battered, beaten, broken shell – four hundred and seventy-eight people are still unaccounted for when the foundations gave way and the walls fell inward.
Grafton Street was once lined with public entertainers seeking money for their performances now it is simply choked by the dead and the dying and the spectacle that they offer is of a very different kind.
The Provost’s House sits at No.1 Grafton Street, where the city’s main shopping thoroughfare meets College Green and Nassau Street. Built in 1789 this splendid piece of Georgian urban architecture has hosted the visits from countless dignitaries from all around the world.
Now, however, this once proud building has suffered the utter indignity of being pulled apart pilaster after cornice after Venetian window after round-headed arch.
Where parties once gathered in the grounds for receptions and celebrations these same grounds are now filled with the scattered detritus of the three thousand people charged with the building’s destruction.
Whilst crowds of slaves set about removing the walls of the College thousands of other slaves filled Front Square and proceeded to remove the cobblestones and decorative borders. As you can imagine, such massive acts of cultural vandalism forced a new chaos to settle heavily on all proceedings and the already flooded parts of Trinity College came to resemble a hellish estuary as stinking mud, churning crowds and bloated cadavers now began to hinder the progress of Terminal Transit.
The demolition of Trinity College also continued apace. The bronze globe that has sat outside Trinity’s Berkeley Library since 1982, Arnaldo Pomodoro’s ‘Sphere with Sphere,’ was worked loosed from its plinth and rolled across Front Square where it was then used as a wrecking ball to demolish Front Gate and splinter the wooden doors into firewood, crushing twelve people along the way.
The fact that different versions of this same sculpture can also be found in the Vatican and the Headquarters of the United Nations was a wonderful irony not lost on the NotBeSpeak as they oversaw this perverse transformation from an existing artistic statement to a new statement of an altogether very different kind.