2242.
Yes… the year I was talking about. That year brought many surprises, everything happening at once, everything colliding in ways none of us expected. At the time it felt like chaos, like a mess with no meaning, yet later I would realize that even the strangest moments carry a purpose.
History had always fascinated me. Every part of it demanded my attention in ways other subjects never could, because history never arrives quietly; it drags along horror, triumph, fear, and the fragile memory of mistakes humanity swore it would never repeat.
And yet the worst truth about history is painfully simple.
It always finds a way to repeat itself.
The tragedy of the year 2072 was the worst thing that had happened to mankind in centuries at that time, and the first time I heard about it I was sitting inside a crowded college lecture hall while our professor spoke about it with a strange mixture of fascination and grief.
"Students," he said, adjusting his circular glasses along the bridge of his nose while scanning the room slowly.
"Today's lecture may disturb some of you, while many of you may find it interesting. As usual, I have little patience for people who refuse to pay attention." His voice paused briefly before continuing. "Today we will discuss the tragedy of 2072."
The way he said it was unsettling, because he looked both excited and devastated at the same time, as though the event had left a permanent mark on the world he studied so passionately.
He began explaining what happened, and from the moment he started speaking not a single word escaped my memory. Because the tragedy of 2072 was not something humanity could ever speak about casually.
It changed our world in ways none of us could truly imagine.