He punched big spikes into the ground. Big, strong iron nails, deep into the soil, so the ground would stay put. He knew it would peel off, someday, if he didn’t. It would peel off for good, leaving us all on a hot rock to die.
He knew if he didn’t do it, no one would. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to do it. He had to.
One day two men came by.
-Why do you punch spikes into the ground? they asked.
-To keep the surface from peeling off.
-Haha! You’re funny, they said, shaking their heads.
Another day he told a young girl. She looked at him as if he was crazy, almost running away.
No one believed him. He decided he would never tell anyone ever again. From now on he told people he punched spikes into the ground for fun. They still laughed, but now he could laugh with them. It was less hurtful that way, but he was worried. He was afraid the job was too big for one man alone.
He was saving the world, and no one knew. Without him they would all be doomed.