The end will not arrive in a flash of white light,
no mushroom cloud bruising the horizon.
It will scroll in quietly,
thumb by thumb,
pixel by pixel.
We will not hear sirens.
We will hear notifications.
A soft chime announcing outrage,
another announcing envy,
another announcing that everyone is watching
and no one is seeing.
Cities will still stand.
Oceans will still breathe.
But attention will fracture into glittering dust,
and truth will drown beneath applause.
The final war will not be fought with missiles,
but with mirrors.
Each of us armed with a screen,
each of us certain we are right,
each of us alone together.
Humanity will not be destroyed.
It will be distracted,
slowly, politely,
until it forgets
what it was trying to save.