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Hi! This is a good idea. Should I share the prologue for the book I'm writing?

The first part of a short story I recently wrote:

We have all the time in the world. But that’s not a lot, considering that the world is about to end. Plan C78X was hoping to find another planet other than Earth and Mars (we used up all the resources) that could sustain life, but unfortunately, the Plan came back empty. So you can imagine that the civilians of the world weren’t too happy when the world leaders had to announce that we pretty much only have a week to live before we run out of food, water, supplies, and oxygen. 

This was our fault from the start, was it not? It was us humans who started destroying planet Earth with our carbon emissions and greenhouse gasses. It was us who ripped holes in the precious ozone layer, and it is us who will now have to deal with the result.

No plants have been found in a recent search through a barren land that was once a rainforest, drones the news reporter. Our days are numbered to only 7 days, 8 at most. There’s nothing we can do to stop them.

I sigh and swipe right, to another news station. This one pretty much drones the same despairing news: The world’s most brilliant scientists teamed up to try and create a time machine to redo all this destruction. They were unsuccessful.

I tap the news shut and plop myself back onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, which is made of clear plastic so I can see the sky straight above me, which is gray and ugly like usual. The room I am in is a plastic bubble with enough oxygen for 7 days, the only amount they can spare for each person before the world runs out.

I decide to contact my friend Eɯrε, who is a genius inventor and so was called to help the world famous scientists help with their time machine and other rewriting time endeavors. I pull up her contact and wait. Finally, she answers.

“Azʁi?” Eɯrε’s voice is slightly worried. “What’s up?”

“I was just wondering how your endeavors are going,” I reply. “Anything?”

Eɯrε sounds disappointed as she says, “Sorry. Nothing. All we have here is the same revelation—regret.”

I sigh. “Guess I shouldn’t be hoping. Don’t we all wish that humans did something back then to reverse the deteriorating environment? There were all the signs. But…”

“No one did anything,” Eɯrε finishes in a dejected voice. “Meanwhile, all we are doing is trying more solutions that will come to dead ends. This time, I thought of trying to create a device that will contact the past to try and alert them to do something. Anything. Just to stop this world from dying off forever.”

Congratulations! You found the Writing Egg! Go post "Write, write, and write some more" on the Egg Hunt thread!

Finally! I can randomly write things and stuff. Here's an excerpt from a story I'm trying to write:

Joy radiated about young Addah-Alin,
a Goblin girl of ten Shyrian years (675 days, 45 days in a month, fifteen months
in a year).

She was running lighthearted
through the woods and forests around her home, bathed in sunlight as her cloak
flew behind her. A sword she carried at her belt. She didn’t know why but she
always did. She supposed it made her feel safer.

Addah came to the willow tree with
much ease, though the path was a steep descent upwards against a hillside. Moss
coated the stone and ground about the trail, and roots stuck out of the earth.
Indeed, it had taken her a few hours to make her way up the hill, but after many
visits to the place she had perfected the art of hopping and scrambling and
falling up that hill.

She called it the Mosshill, or Old
Willow Rock. She sat down at the base of the tree, and sat back against it. She
listened to the sound of the stream somewhere below her, she could forget things
here, her troubles, her life.