976, 17th month, 15th day.
6:37 AM
This is the last entry of my dairy on this planet. The first group of our people have already boarded the tranpsorts the aliens brought for us. The bunkers are becoming just as silent and dead as the surface of this once great world.
I was with the group that escorted the children... The city hasn't changed in the two decades since the war. It looked nearly the same as those two poor devils may saw it, whose shadows I saw, burnt on to the wall.
I saw the first sunrise in 20 years, felt its warmth on my scales... and I felt it was wasted...

10:00 AM

The aliens came down to the bunker again, to help our sick, whom they stabilised yesterday, leave. I felt ashamed. All that shining white and blue equipment, the technology, the knowledge, were all reminders what we could have achieved. I wish I never casted that vote to the RVP.

10:37 AM

I declined the offer to be in the escort groups again. I couldn't bear the tears of our elders.

14:23

One of the aliens asked me if I could help... I guess it was a female... so, her, to move our library. It was a few books, the last remmants of a culture that has long since withered, like many of the pages. They were too few to support the rebuilding of our culture, but more than enough to feed the guilt we all felt for destroying it. I don't know much about these fur covered people, but in the last month, when I communicated with them, I learnt to recognise the emotions that always occupied their faces, when they landed. Pity, and sorrow...

16:43

Everything is silent. Only some of our militia remained, packing what the others left behind. As we move forward and forward from the debts of the bunker, and switch of the lights, i see more and more tears in the eyes of the men. None of these bulbs and neon tubes will light up again.

19:30

From what the aliens told me, we are the last to leave the planet. The survivors from the otherside of the sea departed an hour before us.
Understandably, no one from the militia was allowed to bring their weapons. We threw them on a big pile, a few meters away from the ramp. As I look over above the pile of SP-73s, and see the old parlimnent building in the orange light of the sunset, I'm reminded of the Anthem. I find no pride in it, only guilt. Every line and verse was no more than the self-glorification of murderers. Every anthem ever written on this planet, became such.
The sunset must have made my tears glisten, because no one hurries me to board the ship.
Here I stand, the last living creature whose feet still grasp the scorched surface of our world, with a withered pencil, and a yellowing note pad in my hands, looking over the skyscrapers that became the magnificent gravestones for our culture, our world... and our future.
For anyone who finds this journal on top of this pile of weapons, wich i highly doubt, Know that there is nothing left of the planet Reminia. The children who leave now, will not remember... and the adults who go with them, are already dead inside.

Rest in piece, my world.