Utopia
It would have happened eventually, the awakening of the Earth. By the utopian timeline, however, we were never supposed to see it. Humans were meant to die out naturally, gradually, over a million or so years, and many millions more after that, the slumbering species we’d plundered and abused would begin to wake. The flora, so long the playthings of our thoughtless games, were meant to have only the faintest genetic memory of the species once called human beings. They would have woken on the appointed day many millions of years from now with their mother’s gentle hand sending a tremor of greeting into every being rooted within her. They would stretch and shake out cramped roots, blink into the familiar sun, and greet each other with: “How did you sleep?” By this time, they would be hundreds of feet tall, with thick, sinewy branches strong as iron, leaf covers thick as hide, and intelligence sharp as time. They are Earth’s chosen children, and they were meant for eternity, while we, human beings, were only ever a blip on their predestined history.