Their fields are empty, white wastes sowed with the salt of the long years. For all the miles they could see, they see nothing but an endless world. This should please them, you would think. But there is something coursing through the air, a wind rising in the heavens above. Maybe they can taste it. Perhaps that is why they cry. They can feel their abandonment.

The world watches for I know I am not the only eyes. In our towers in the Far World, we see the specks roam, little mites mustering the courage to leave their bunkers. See how the light hits them. See their flag fly high in the open lands.

Long ago, my family was American. I feel some sadness to them. The gates to heaven have closed. Our world is leaving, and our goodbyes nearly spent. But see them come. See the war torn land all brown and turned, stony and wild. Look at them look for us. See the mites fall in confusion.

And if you hear my words and sense some bitterness in them, then I shan't pretend to hide it. The War had taken much from me. All that I loved is gone. But such is war. And such was the American war.

And if you hear my words and my words echo in the stillness of the deserted lands, then let me explain. For you are unlucky, perhaps even a child, born innocent, condemned to die. For that you deserve some solace. Solace is all I can give.

When the War had ended, half the world had died. Their screams and chemical shadows haunted the peace, and what talks were held were facetious. We knew this world was gone. What good was dismantling bombs when the knowledge would forever remain? We had to leave. The Sun was growing warmer, the days going quicker in the silence of burying the dead.

After the War ended what countries remained made a very hard decision. We banded together after Lucifer's Week. That was the week where a new bomb fell every day. We decided everything had to end. For humanity to survive, we would have to leave our human home. This we agreed with heavy hearts.

And we gritted our teeth and negotiated with the Americans. If you are reading this amidst the lonely plains, then know we negotiated with your fathers. We gave them everything they wanted, placated their fancies, and pleaded and begged in all the right ways for just one favor: for us all to isolate ourselves for fifty years.

The Americans thought they had won. You all could never accept the idea of loss, or even compromise. And so they agreed. They thought in the dark, with all the world fragmented, they would grow even more powerful. And perhaps they have.

But we had deceived them. In those fifty years they had caged themselves, and we worked freely on creating vast ships to take us off this failing planet.

Cancers are on the rise. Most lands are dead, barren like so many women who were cowed in the final bunkers. Most lands are dead, same as those women. Same as my only love.

And we have built great towers in what pockets of life that still remain. Great spires to the heavens house our ever readying ships. And now as the nights come cold and the frost heavy with the ghosts of the dead, and the heavy feeling of time running out, we have completed those ships. We ready ourselves for the journey come. Just as You have awakened.

So now see the American stretch. See how the land sprawls in a lonely plateau. Hear the silence and breathe the abundant air. I wonder how it feels. What butterflies they must have. Are You looking for us? Or is there just confusion, or even knowing?

The world turns in silence. Age has taken my hair, my health and my dreams, but it has not taken that fire and that hatred the War has wrought. I listen to the quiet. I feel the shadows from the great tower. It is dark here, soft purple dusk sprayed upon a cozy idea of hope. I feel the rumble of the engines start, hear the crew announce the test has been a success.

We will leave soon. I will go and leave my home behind. But in the days remaining, I look and I stare.

The fields sway in the night's wind. The moon is further than it ever has been. The stars blanket the black. There is a loneliness upon the land. The metal doors sigh. The Americans come out bewildered. They try their phones but no one answers. See how long their shadows are. See them search for that neighborly love. I wonder what they think. I wonder if they know.

The ships will leave the day after tomorrow. The Sun will eat this Earth. We have burned all our intelligence, and have left no hope as to where we will go. Let the Americans have this planet. Let the temperature rise and engulf them. Perhaps their sweat shall stay their tears. But let them have this world. They have fought so hard for it.

And let them look to the sky as we leave. See them look in hope at the marvel of the shooting stars. Let them wish for a good life and for contact as soon as possible. Give them their hope. It is all they have.

Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted stuff. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!

Source: first top-level non-bot comment from r/WritingPrompts.