Obliterate Everything 4 May 2026

I wanted to argue. I wanted to say that I'd kept my mother's garden alive in memory, that I'd adopted a new dog, that I'd apologized to the friend I'd ghosted in 2021. But the gray planet didn't care about intentions. It only cared about what was actually, physically, irreversibly gone.

I looked around. Nothing. No light except the faint glow of the chain counter, now reading 1,000 exactly. obliterate everything 4

And that was the game. For the first hour, I moved through the shard-windows, obliterating. A police station. A wedding. A coral reef. A rocket on a launchpad. A courtroom. A birthday party (children's silhouettes, smaller). Each time, the gray cube. Each time, the flat voice. I wanted to argue