Twas the turning of the century, and we
were making maps of the world. Times
had changed, and the lines drawn by our
fathers’ fathers had been altered a thousand
times over. But there was a familiarity. There
was an air of tradition. The winds of change
would come and lift our sails again, and
states would morph into regions, and countries
would disappear for a moment. Empires
would rise and fall, and we would no longer
be here. Our maps will find their way into an
old museum that smells musty and damp.
Historians will speak on our behalf and what
they thought we meant when we wrote
about our “Roman Empire” that somehow
existed in the twenty-first century. We will
cease to be ourselves, and our maps will be
the only thing left of us. Stories of conquering
and succeeding. Conquering and falling. One
day a child will dare to draw a map of their
world, and that map will join ours in that
musty museum. A historical collection of
worlds that we couldn’t imagine living in, and
only time will tell us about the next century.