A Withering World

What would happen in a world without nature?

Inhale oxygen. I can feel the draft all in my face as I pedal as hard as I can. The wind wraps around me like a birthday present. As I increase the speed, I sense the textures of the black road through the tires. The parking lot where I speed is rocky in some places and even in others. I think I like it.

Exhale carbon dioxide. I fulfill my part of the forced transaction. These bike rides had me sucking air, so to give back, I’m forcing out the gaseous wastes. The green, bending, twirling trees that pirouette in the air will appreciate my involuntary charity.

Inhale this splendid view. It’s a sight that I’m lucky to even hear about. Our trees are growing rarer and rarer as the 22nd-century presses on, so I know I need to savor them. I relish this one-of-a-kind experience like a cherished photograph that’s passed down from generation to generation. Appreciating the parade of vibrant hues, I daydream a bit. I think about telling a tale about this time to my kids, grandkids, and maybe even great-grandkids. “Have you heard the time I saw a tree?” I would ask, wisely predicting their mouths would drop to the floor.

 Exhale the bitter truth. Virtual reality can’t replace the upright branches I’ve seen in books and movies. I tear off the VR goggles, slump down in defeat, and guess there is no alternative to nature.

It’s 2122. Winters are usually below freezing, and summers commonly reach above 100 degrees Fahrenheit. The extreme weather has become so unbearable that my family and I have started quarantining inside our house. The worst part is that it blindsided us. If you think we expected three-digit degree summers, then you’re mistaken. Frequent last-minute vacation cancellations became common. But still, we cope. During the desert-like seasons of June and July, we stay inside. We watch our TV, read our books and play our games because not one of us would like to become a human S’more. We do anything to fill in the arbor-shaped hole in our hearts. That’s right. Trees are about as rare as the iPhone 6s are in the 22nd century.

The heat, on the other hand, has proven itself to be an omnipresent pest. Fanning my face with my brown-colored hand, I turn on the TV, searching for something to watch. No sports are on, no reality shows; I can’t even find house remodeling programs. I can understand why, though. No one wants to peek a toe outside, much less run up and down in the heated summers. All that I can find are lo-fi sounds and static. I’m beginning to think it’s the soundtrack to an unforgettably unfortunate summer. 

Snacks. Snacks could help fill this hole begging for entertainment. I tear our pantry apart, looking for a scrap of deliciousness or a slice of something good. But there’s nothing there. Boredom stares me in the face, taking my fun bit by bit. That’s when I hear the sound that will change my summer.

The springy bounce of my dad’s sneakers echoes through the house as he jumps. Everyone in the house, including me, stops and sweeps around to look as he stretches. He turns, sheepish.

“What? I thought we would go for a walk. There’s nothing in the pantry, and I’m dying of boredom,” he confesses.

I think he just said out loud what everyone’s been thinking. 

Two minutes later, everyone’s lacing their respective different footwear. Everyone has been catching cabin fever; I guess. 

Scrolling through a mapping app, my mom announces there’s a grocery store five minutes away. Five minutes isn’t too bad. But in this dry weather, there’s no telling if one of us falls over from exhaustion. We set off anyway. Reward over risk, I guess.

What is it about the smooth sidewalks that I love so much? Is it the smoothness? I know where things are going, where things are headed. No dead ends blindside me, and there aren’t unpleasant surprises lurking around the corner. 

I don’t see any ignorance in myself either. For the first time, I can make out the aftermath of a dystopia. The telephone poles that I jog behind sag. The abundance of litter seems to crumple in the harsh sunlight. Similarly, the rare passing car melts on the road. 

My family: two younger brothers, a younger sister, my mom, and my dad: all lag a long distance away from me. They all wear the same expression, as well. On their faces, I can see surprise, confusion, and a bit of remorse similar to mine. They all want something they haven’t experienced yet; the things that the classic novels, the old-time music, and the nostalgic TV shows brag about. 

In the classics, they revel in a tranquil park, admiring the scenic spots with an admiring gaze, and life was easy. In our reality, all we have is a never-ending treadmill cranked all the way, forcing us to keep our guard up and move every day. If we fall off…

“Hey! Watch out!” My three siblings all yell at me to keep a close eye on the road. I snap back, stopping at an intersection just in time. I think the sidewalk and the gentle WHOOSHing of the wind blindsided me with an introspection. That was a real shocker, for sure.

“Thanks!” I yell back. 

When we arrive at the store, we’re about as hungry as Bilbo was in The Hobbit. Unfortunately, the store is just as empty as our stomachs. 

There isn’t a lot of the natural stuff. Air pollution and environmental destruction are through the roof, and it’s not a good thing. It means that I can’t feel, in real life, the juice of a handpicked apple dribbling down my chin or the crunchy taste of those broccolis everyone hates in the movies. 

I have to settle for flavorless slush and drinks that I can’t help but spit out most of the time. Yet my family and I manage to scavenge some genetically modified fruits and veggies, a potpourri of junk food, and various carbs. Hopefully, it can last us a long time because this journey had me grabbing for air.

Upon our arrival home, we stocked up the fridge, pantry, and freezer with a mind-numbing amount of nutrition. As we walk off to do our own thing, my mom and dad unload a box of books and magazines. 

“Food for thought,” they say as they comb through the pages. “We need these as much as we need nutrients.”

I grin a bit as I take a novel out of the stack. It’s Walden by Henry David Thoreau. Almost immediately, I flip to the first page and start reading. Even though entertainment can’t trump nature, it comes a close second.

Author's Note

Was this engaging? If not, how can I make it so?

Reviews

[Sevengillia]

I would argue that the story's point is too obvious. It was hard to keep reading when I could see the end from near the beginning. It's too strong a lament for nature. It would be better if you made it feel real longer at the beginning, and saved the reveal for a tiny bit at the end.