I’ve read some of the letters—the same ones fueling the chaos that already consumes Earth. While others are in trepidation, I am exhilarated.

I have always been different—everyone says it. You said it too, but I never truly understood. I heard what I wanted to believe, not what you meant. Maybe I should have listened more before your voice was gone.

The last remnants of churches say the rapture is near. Some claim it has already happened, and this is the Great Tribulation. Others whisper that Dev is the final deception, the great lie before the end.

Fear is in the air. People cling to faith—Christianity, Islam, whatever else might promise salvation. One day, I saw a man burning incense to Buddha in Calabar South. It should have been a funny sight, but I couldn’t laugh. His desperation was palpable, his anxiety etched into his brow.

For some time now, I have had this longing—to be free. And Dev is my answer. Despite the warnings from the letters, I seek utopia.

October 18, 2040

I remember the date of my rebirth.
After months of numbness, you reached for me through the silence.
And with your presence, I began again.
What started with a smile quickly bloomed into desire,
A longing so fierce,
Like fire wrapped in silk.
We became one,
Two souls knit in love’s embrace. I was yours.

August 23, 2045

I looked into her eyes for the first time—
The proof of our communion.
As I held her tightly, I recalled nights of rhapsodic wonder;
where love spoke in whispers, and the universe felt small.
In your love, I found comfort.
All of me became you.
Your touch—a map leading me home,
exploring depths of intimacy I had never dreamed of.
You bade me to come, and I followed.

Then, I lost you. And I died a thousand deaths in one. That crash stole the meaning of life. I wish it had taken me too.

I want what they have. I need what they hate. Tariku Negasi has been called a million names—“The Anti-Christ, a liar, a scam, the doom of mankind.” But to me, he is salvation.

I have heard that Dev allows you to access memories from Earth. But I will not need to. I take only one memory with me, and I will replay it until it consumes me.

Avantika Udo’s letter, To You Whom I Have Never Met, was the rescue I sought. For the first time in forever, I had hope.

She was right – “…My suspicion is that once they reach a certain number, Dev will be formatted”. Every trace of consciousness will be erased, and nothing will remain. It will not be like death as we know it—no heaven, no hell, no transition to another plane. Just oblivion. A silence that’s so complete it undoes existence itself. And maybe that’s the peace we have all been searching for.”

This is the escape I have been waiting for. A final, irreversible erasure.

My fear died in 2064, with you in that car. And now, I go into the MaDe with nothing but desire. To be with you again, to touch you once more. To hold you in that one perfect moment before I fade into nothing.

Whispers from Earth,
Christabelle.

Written by Onwuka Progress Ifunanya.