They left Earth when she broke. Fled into space.
They had found a suitable planet near Deneb. Suitable. Optimal conditions, they said. Same mass, same atmosphere, same temperature. Optimal. Perfect. They started planning the relocation. Built ships. Gathered the best and the brightest, the bravest and the strongest, the wisest and the wealthiest. Only a few could go. Only a few.
They stockpiled resources. Brought in materials, food, supplies. The bare necessities, they said. Mankind would live on. In the stars. Survival. The needs of the few outweigh the needs of the many. Or the other way around. There was confusion. Propaganda. Rioting, resistance. In the end they came out on top. The needs of the strong outweigh the needs of the weak.
Then they left. Evacuated. Fifteen massive colony ships carrying the cryogenically frozen last hope of humanity. They left Earth and Sol and took off, at first drifting slowly, slowly. But with ceaselessly working, pounding, throbbing fission engines they constantly accelerated, soaring through the nightly black, icily cold vacuum of space.
And the rest of us? The rest of us, us pitiable fools, we could only watch them leave. Could only make do with what was left. Not much as it were, with the gases, and the ozone and the icecaps. Some prayed, some panicked, some fought, many died.
But no matter.
Earth does not heal.
Earth does not forget.
Earth does not forgive.
We shall be gone soon.