Future

When people think of the future, they think about flying cars and hoverboards and artificial intelligence. They think of a world where everyone is connected through technology, where everyone is kind, everything is equal. They do not stop to think of what it actually will bring.
The future… how I wish it was the fantastical ideologies of a 7 year old, or the inspiration of an eccentric author ready to create a new bestseller.
The future is not that. The future is now. And it is terrible.
The year is 2143, and humans have destroyed the planet.
Science fiction may have created a dystopia where the human race is obliterated by some foreign species.
But our real enemy is ourselves.

It all started years ago, over 100 years. Back then, in those simpler times, climate change was certainly a problem we envisioned, and many warned against it. But there were still those who ignored the signs. Or who saw them and just didn’t care. And it is their fault that Earth is how it is now.
Everyone thought that the worst thing to happen was just some temperature raising and sea levels increasing.
But the effects were so, so much larger than anyone could have thought.

My grandmother used to live in Miami, Florida. Some days she sits us down by the cooler and in her old, metal rocking chair, she tells us what life was like then.
“We used to play on the beach. We could go in the water then. Sometimes we saw fish. Imagine that, little one, real live fish!” Here she would grab my youngest sister’s chin and wiggle it around a bit while she giggled.
“Did you ever eat the fish?” I asked. Meat was a delicacy, and fish was practically nonexistent.
“Why yes, we did! They tasted kind of stringy and light, but also good. They reminded me of the sea spray.” She closed her eyes, letting the wave of memories wash over her like a cool breeze.
“And you didn’t get sick from the water? And it was unpurified?” My younger brother asked. Nowadays we have to purify our water from the chemicals that are usually in them. It was a long and tiring process. It doesn’t help that there isn’t much water over in this part of America.
“No, we could just splash in it, right from the sandy beaches. And it wasn’t the dusty old sand you’d find out here, it was soft and white as a baby’s bottom!” Here both my siblings laughed, and even I managed to crack a smile.
“Ooh! Was there much ‘winter’ down there?” My little sister asked excitedly. “Did you get to see snowflakes?”
“Very rarely. You’ll have to ask your grandpa about that! Coming from Wisconsin, he knows all about snow from when he was little. In Florida it was hot, but not as hot as it is now!” The old lady waggled her finger. “I remember all these old ladies would come down there during the winter to get some sun. I wanna go where there’s snow in my old age! This heat isn’t good for my skin.”
As if almost his name was a summon, my grandfather sauntered into the doorway, his old man’s legs supporting him with muscle stronger than you would expect. “I heard someone calling me!” He wizened, his gums pressing together what remaining teeth he had.
“Oh, hey there, honey! The kids were just asking about winter and what life was like back then.” Grandmother waved him over, sluggishly dragging a small wooden bench closer to the circle.
“Winter! Ah, what a beauty it was. And to think I sometimes got tired of it!” Grandfather said, sitting down upon the seat.
“You got tired of the cold?” My smaller brother asked, his tone that of skepticism. “I could never get tired of the cold!”
“Why, when it happened as much as it did back then, you’d get tired of it too!” He replied, but with an air of playfulness in his wheezing voice.
“What did winter look like?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. I couldn’t imagine what ice and snow and all those things could possibly appear as, not in this desert waste.
“Snow looked fluffy, and it was white too, like little crystals dropping out of the sky. Each one was different! Sometimes you could pack it into balls and then throw them at your friends.” Grandfather chuckled. “Ah, those were good times. And ice! Ice was a part of winter too. It was water, but it was hard and solid. There used to be huge pieces of ice at the top and bottom of the world, but they’ve gone and melted now.”
Huge sheets of ice? That doesn’t seem possible. It must have been very cold in Grandpa’s time.
Mother and Father walked into the room, looking down lovingly at us. Mother caressed a round baby bump in her hands, a protrusion of life and promise.
Grandpa was about to continue when we heard the hard pitter-patter of droplets against the roof. Everyone looked up, and Father had a concerned emotion in his eye. It soon turned to fear.
“Alright everyone, into the rain shelter.” He ordered, shooing us along. He kissed Mother’s cheek and sent her to the back room with brother and sister. Father helped Grandpa and Grandma move, and put his hands on my shoulders.
“This is going to be a big one. Don’t tell the others, or they’ll panic. I’ll gather extra supplies and blankets. You go outside and put out the rainbuckets and bring in Shelia.” He rushed off to the kitchen.
I gulped. As the oldest sibling and the one most capable, I would have to go outside during the buildup of a hurricane, put out our rainbuckets, and bring in the pet cat. Sometimes Shelia would run into the desert and not come back for days. If she didn’t come back now, then she might be killed.
Pulling on my mask to keep out the polluted air, I ran into the strong winds. I set out the four tin buckets attached to the corners of the house. “Shelia!” I bellowed into the gale, hoping she would hear it and return. After no response, I tried again. Still nothing.
The wind was getting increasingly worrying. Another category 5, we assumed. It was always a category 5. It’s about time that they make a Category 6 so that all these huge hurricanes could be bunched into that category. They don’t even bother naming hurricanes anymore. Maybe Shelia had been blown away, or fallen somewhere, or eaten-
A mewling bundle of brown fur smacked into my face. I yelled in surprise and realized it was our beloved cat. I picked her up and hugged her briskly, before running back inside. If the wind was already enough to blow a cat into the air, then how long before it could pick up a human?
Running into the rain shelter, located deep below our hastily constructed house which had been reconstructed for the thousanth time(from when the last disaster happened - I think it was flooding. Or a tornado. I can’t honestly remember), I set Shelia down and huddled with the rest of my family. Father soon came stamping down, carrying loads of extra items such as cheaply canned food and extra blankets.
“How long will this one be, daddy?” Sister asked, tugging on the sleeve of Father. He looked down at her with love and sadness in his eyes, and bent down to her level.
“Three or four days, sweetie.” He answered, patting her on the head and stroking her hair. “Just a few days.”
From his expression, it was going to be a little bit longer than just a few days.