When time was young, the Sun gave birth to nine children. The third youngest she named Gaia, and it was this child that she loved with the most powerful passion of her fiery heart. Gaia was the strongest of her children, and the smartest, and out of all nine, only Gaia had been blessed with the conditions necessary for life.
“Look, Mother!” Gaia cried, proudly displaying the life swimming in her waters. The Sun smiled and sent her warmest, gentlest rays down upon her young daughter. The millenia passed, and Gaia watched as plants and animals off all shapes and sizes blossomed and flourished in the emerald lands and crystal seas on her surface. Gaia, now graced with her own daughter, Luna, saw the continents shift and viewed species as they rose and fell.
“What’s that?” Luna asked, sending waves crashing up onto shores where a new kind of animal walked. Gaia looked curiously at the creature. With it’s hairless skin and upright posture, it looked strange, but it was the eyes that caught her attention. Those eyes gleamed with intelligence and creativity. When the Sun saw those eyes, her proud smile bathed Gaia in it’s brilliance, and the little blue planet vowed that she would never disappoint her mother.
So Gaia brought lightning so that the humans could use fire, and she raised stones so they could make tools, and she threaded ores through their rocks so they could discover metals. They thrived under her tender ministrations, and their societies grew: towns, farms, and cities began cropping up all across the landscape. She winced when they dug into her surface with their sharp tools, but the objects they made brought a smile to the Sun’s face, and Gaia knew it was worth it.
But Luna was not happy.
“Their lights dull my glow,” she complained, “And the smoke from their factories obscures the skies where I shine.” Gaia turned away and took a deep breath of the smog-filled air, as if to prove a point. It took all she had not to cough.
Try as she might, Gaia could not deny it forever. The humans had no regard for the effort she’d taken to bring them to where they were. Did they know where they’d be if she hadn’t helped them? And though she sent storms and earthquakes and burning lava to break apart cities and tear down walls, the humans were resilient. Too resilient.
“They send smoke into the air and lead into the water.” Gaia told her sisters. Jupiter shuddered and hugged her many children to her breast. “They invent ways to kill each other.” Her brothers turned away, glad it wasn’t them. Even Mars, who had once been jealous of his sister, would not do anything but offer his hesitant pity.
“I’m sorry.” Pretty Venus smiled sympathetically. Gaia almost cried, hearing what none of her siblings had dared to say: This is your fault. You let this happen. Such was her guilt that she refused to ask the Sun for help, not even when smoke choked the air so she could hardly breathe and the rays of sun, once so gentle, became trapped in the air and scorched her skin. However, the Sun was nothing if not an attentive mother. She saw the scars in her beloved daughter’s skin, saw how her child shook with repressed fury, and her heart ached, for she could do nothing.
What had she done? Her beautiful daughter, damaged beyond repair, all for the sake of a few intelligent animals that had grown into a never ending menace. The blue of water and green of tree, the yellow of sand and clear of air: All gone. And still, Gaia would not give in. She refused to admit she was hurting.
It was then that the true terror began. For years Gaia had watched as the humans learned to split apart matter and put it back together again, and she knew too well what they were capable of. Where had they learned of such destruction? Certainly, Gaia had not taught them. Even so, the greed of her creations was infinite. Their cruelty, it seemed, knew no bounds. It was a surprise to no one when the first bombs split the atmosphere, tearing life limb from limb wherever they landed. Under the onslaught of mutual destruction, even Gaia’s indestructible humans fell.
Luna rejoiced to see them gone, but Gaia’s pain was immense. Human civilization was gone, it was true, but so was everything - all the beautiful life she had prided herself in for so long, and the places where the unnatural bombs landed hurt like a fiery brand was forced into her skin. So finally, Gaia cried.
She cried for the life that had once lived.
She cried for the proud child that had aimed only to please her mother.
She cried for herself.
And with each sob, the Sun felt her own heart break into a thousand pieces.
“It hurts,” Gaia wept. All pride gone, she pleaded with her mother. “Make it stop.” The Sun blamed herself. If nothing else, she could do this one thing for her daughter. There is a time when an end is the only comfort anyone can give.
The sun took her anguished fire and thrust it to the cosmos with all the passion of an eternity of life. The blaze shook the foundations of the universe and when it was gone, there was nothing.
No sun
No moon
No earth.
In her final moments, the Sun thought that Gaia would have appreciated her sacrifice. She would have loved the swirling colors where the sky would never be.