Earth

A dying planet, gargantuan ash storms, artificial forests, a desperate hunt for the last ounces of energy. But one night, a strange light changes it all.

Earth. Some of it’s the same. There’s still the oceans, the mountains and the clouds. All wrapped around the never-ending curve. It’s only when you look at the old pictures that you notice the changes. The first photograph of the world shows the clouds as a canvas of grey and white. Not the vicious lumps of black soot that have taken their place. The oceans were the purest blue, only broken by white streaks of waves that looked like they were alive: moving.

Now the sea is still, not calm but dead. The colour is drained or rather burnt to a dirty green. The Atlantic is speckled with oil rigs as tall as skyscrapers. They call them Scavengers. The ones that just don’t stop digging, hunting for more, taking all they can find. The Eco-Liberation Front have spent years fighting them but it seems like their “Save the World” mission is doing more harm than good. The mountains aren’t made of stone or grass or sand anymore, they shine, brighter than the cities and furnaces. Now they’re coated in sleek black solar panels, just another tool, another resource to be drained dry.

That’s what my Dad is supposed to be stopping. He’s part of a government program in a desperate effort to save something, or at least to look like they’re trying. So they’re paying him to plant trees, rows upon rows of them. My Dad can't see it, how even in their effort to restore nature they're still making him plant in lines, in order. He has to change trees every 300 saplings so when you look out over the forest that he's created you'll see that it's made of blocks. A huge block of oak trees. Then another block of birch. And another, and another. It drives me mad. The structure, the systematic mindlessness.

The forest is dark. It's been dark for weeks, pitch black like a night without stars. This has to be the biggest ash cloud in years. You're not supposed to go out without your mask on when there's a cloud passing, but there's nobody else here and I'm sure I saw something. My feet are throwing fountains of ash behind me as I break the thick, grey carpet that the cloud has dumped over the forest. The air around me swirls as the musky, yellow light of my torch illuminates the shadows of branches and leaves. Grit is falling through the net of branches over head like a snow-storm but snow could never be this lifeless. The dim lights from my house are fading into the distance, the comfort and safety is slipping away.

There! A sharp blue flicker in the distance piercing the gloom. The ground beneath me parts and breaks as I run. My legs begin to ache from the effort of fighting through the cold cinders. The soot is in my clothes, in my mouth and in my eyes but I don't care. I saw something.

The trees have changed shape. They're thin and wiry now but they're still in their ranks, stretching endlessly into the fog. The skeletal arms are like webs surrounding me. But the bright blue still pierces through. I have to get to it. The branches scratch at my face as I force my way past, they're hooking onto my coat, dragging my arms, holding me in but the light is still there. The light that I have to reach.

I can feel my torch sliding from my grip. That doesn't matter anymore. I know where I'm going even though I don't know what's there. It's like the blue flicker is calling to me, screaming at me, pulling me in and I'm letting it; no, I'm helping it.

The electrical light is growing closer. I can feel its warmth. It’s all around me, drenching me in its sapphire glow. I can feel the heat intensifying. The ash is falling off of my clothes and my skin, it’s drifting off behind me like it’s being pushed away from the light. The ground beneath my feet suddenly becomes hard, I look down and realise the ash is gone. Through a perfect sphere of clear, hot air the floor isn’t grey anymore, it’s green. It’s not dead, it’s full of energy. The grass is lush, undamaged and speckled with delicate white flowers. The little blue light is hovering in the middle of it all. Commanding its own atmosphere of life.

I blink once and the light is gone. Plunging me into the dark. The tiny oasis is already fading away. My whole body aches, I’m littered with scratches, my coat is full of holes and my torch is somewhere far behind me. I stand there for a moment, in my dull, murky surroundings with no choice but to accept defeat.

I turn back to find the house.

Author's Note

Just a short story, I hope you enjoy it all the same :) any feedback is hugely appreciated

Reviews

[LSE Darwin]

I like this. It's quite interesting, and the pace of the writing is good. If it were expanded, I'm left wondering--primarily--if all the trees the person's father is planting are going to die because of the ash storm. Seems likely, but it's not clear if the protagonist knows that or not. Does he or she? I also wonder if the blue orb is just an illusion. But I don't know if that's something you'd want to tell the reader of you want them to wonder about.

[Coyote Poetry]

I did enjoy this story. I'm 1/2 Ojibwa. I love the water, earth and the trees. I wished we respect them more. The story brought the reader in with good description and you create good visions and place. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[Bryan Webb]

I was sucked in from the very beginning. The brief introduction to the corporate greed and the merciless overtaking of the Earth's resources really helped paint the picture for the dystopian style world in which the character lives in. The blue light being a beacon of hope among the conformed chaos of a symmetrical forest shrouded in a thick blanket of ash. It's a great piece showcasing one possible, and frightening, future of our world and is well executed, but the ending feels like a cliffhanger and leaves me begging for more; begging for closure. Well done and please, keep up the good work.