The Earth Strikes Back

In the small town of Pleasantville, in the year 2100, a banner flies in the dusty wind. It is strung up on the library, floating from side to side, spanning the entire brick wall. It reads, The earth remembers what we forget.

Behind the library, an orange cloud of dust, like a wave from the ocean, roars through anything in its path. The sun, a burning bright ember in the sky, sits just above the dust storm, setting a glow to it. The all-powerful pariah is taking back what was once hers alone.

Corpses of Ford trucks and mothers' SUVs and sand piles ruin the library’s parking lot. The white parking lines are faint. Only the bodies of insects will be able to make out the painted lines that once controlled the movement of man-made earth destroying missiles.

A pile of dust accumulates next to one of the many SUVs. Sticking out of the pile of dust, illuminated by the growing storm of light behind the library, dust shaking all around it, is a small human hand. More precisely, the bones of a small human hand. A ring rests on the pointer finger, swaying in the wind, about to topple from its position. The colors are greyed out and the engravings are muted. But with the correct ray of light coming from over the library, an engraving of a tree and an apple can be seen.

The storm gets closer with every passing second. Dust flies in the sky as mini sand tornados fly around the parking lot. The banner flaps even harder, cracking in the wind like a whip.

The storm is coming.

The Earth's reckoning is here.

James Smith, a forty-two-year-old man with a convincing smile and clean look, smoking a cigarette, drives his Ford truck down Interstate 5. He rolls down his window and throws the half-used cigarette out the window and onto the side of the road. He just got off work and took a pit stop on the way home. He bought his daughter a nice little present. It is her birthday, and he promised her he would get her something really nice. He placed it in the back seat in a nice pink little bag. She wouldn’t even know what it was before she opened it.

He’s stuck in stop and go traffic. His 2062 Ford is brand new. A brand-new gas truck. The electric vehicle uproar about twelve years ago faded away as gas prices lowered. Electric vehicles cost more, even without the engine repairs and maintenance. People just couldn’t leave their gas trucks.

James takes a deep breath of the fumes of the truck coming from in front of him. He smiles as the smell of fuel enters his nose. A good smell. One he has loved since he was a child, driving little tractors on his farm in Iowa. His dad always set him on the seat and said, “Go at it!” He almost always hit something, but he was going about a mile an hour, it didn’t matter. His Pa and himself would drive the tractor down to the riverbank, and within an hour, they would unplug all four of their water runoffs that lead into the river. He said that if they didn’t do that, their plants would drown.

There was one day where Pa was sick, so James took his little shovel and marched on down to the dirt railroads. He unplugged them enough so that the contaminated water could flow from their farm into the river. Three years later, the river barely had any flow, and algae stuck on top, killing all the wildlife plants underwater. Then, the fish started floating.

James could still smell the rotting fish and algae blooms, leaving a rotting taste in his mouth that wasn’t the smoke from his white cancer stick. He comes back to the road in front of him and sees that the cars have started to move a little faster.

James, a normally law-abiding citizen, notices his phone buzzing in the cup holder next to him. Olivia, his wife, is calling. He takes the phone in one hand and answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi, where are you? Her party starts in five minutes!” His daughter turned eight years old today.

“Shit! I’ll be there soon! Traffic. We got lunch right?”

“No, just her cake. All the friends took her to get Burger King before the party.” A doorbell rings on the other side of the phone and a moment later loud screeches of little girls pop up on the phone. James pulls the phone from his ear.

“Listen, after the party the kids need you to drive them to the library. Ok?” The doorbell rings once again. “I gotta go.” The line goes dead.

He hangs up and throws his phone on the seat next to him.

James’s stomach growls as he looks over to the side of the road. Past the two lanes of cars burning their plastic tires into the ground is a McDonalds. He pulls over on the next exit and drives over to the restaurant. He orders his Big Mac with large fries and Diet Coke and gets back on the road. Oils drip down his chin and onto his jeans as he stuffs his face. James enjoys the salty fries when suddenly a smoky scent drifts through the air.

James looks out his window and sees the manufacturing plant. Smoke shoots out the top of the buildings, creating a hazy dark sky off in the distance. The smell travels all the way to the highway. All the way to James’s nose.

“Of course! Now I’m not going to be able to enjoy my fries!”

He throws the fries on the seat next to him in annoyance at the fumes entering his car and rolls up his window. He turns on the radio. “In other news, the planet's heat index is rapidly rising as scientists now claim there is almost nothing we can do, as they expect major repercussions…”

James turns off the radio. “Too bad it won’t affect me. I’ll be long dead, six feet under.”

He pulls into an off ramp and within five minutes he pulls into his driveway. A two-story house with a nice front yard. A pesticide sign planted in the grass informs people to stay off the lawn. He takes his briefcase from the back seat and exits the car. Kids scream inside the house, their muffled voices either of pure joy or pain. “Damnit the library!” He runs back to his car and pulls out all of the garbage from McDonalds, looks towards his house and thinks about his wife. He promised he would stop eating fast food. He runs to the side of the house and throws the garbage into a bush. “She won’t see it. Hopefully.”

Wiping his hands on his pants, he walks into the house.

Two hours later four kids, including his daughter Sarah, pile into his truck. “Hi guys! Sarah, how does it feel to be a whole eight years old?”

“Awesome. Now I’m super old. I am almost in the double digits like you, Daddy!”

“Yes, you are. So, the library, huh? Trying to find some good books?” The children all giggle in the backseat. “What’s so funny back there?”

“Nothing.” They all say in the same voice.

He drives down the road and suddenly remembers what was in the back seat. Her present. He stops at the next stop sign and reaches in the back and grabs the bag.

“Awwwww,” they all scream.

“Not yet! I totally forgot this was back there. I want to see your face when you open it.”

Five minutes later they are in the library parking lot. “You kids head on inside, ok? I want to give my daughter her present in private.” They all run inside.

James hands her the bag. “Open it. I tried to find the perfect one. Colorful. Engraved. Expensive.” He winks at her as she takes out the ring from the bag. Her face lights up into a wide smile and glowing eyes.

“I love it so so, so much dad!” She squeals and hugs her father. “I will give this to my child one day, daddy! They will love it just as much. Maybe even more because when they are living trees won’t even be a thing.”

James laughs and thinks nothing of his daughter's dooming prophecy. He pats her on the head and says, “Go have fun with your friends.”

She runs off to the library as James smiles. He looks towards the sky and takes a breath of fresh air. “Such a nice day out.” He looks up at the sun and feels its warmth radiate throughout his body. “Who doesn’t love nature?”

With that he walks through the parking lot, passed the cars, the white painted lines, and into the doors of the library. The sun shines down on the parking lot, creating a nice warm glow. A sense of peace. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing could break this mirage of tranquility.

The year is 2100. The storm pushes forward. Sand rises. The ground trembles. The sky turns bright orange as the ring on Jame’s granddaughter’s finger shakes. The cemetery of cars and human bodies alike lights up as if a large orange spotlight chooses them. Like a god from above wants to take their hand.

The banner flaps in the wind. The earth remembers what we forget.

The dust blocks out the sign as the storm enters the parking lot.

The bright orange sky turns dark. Heaven calling from above was just a faint image to the sight of the corpses lining the parking lot.

The bodies upon bodies, who tried to find their final resting place, all fall silent to the storm raging above. The Earth is taking revenge. Its body a safe haven for its inhabitants. Given to us for our safety. Now, a deathtrap, and it knows it.

The building, once a safe haven, now a graveyard.

One by one the bones of the dead get buried under the sandy storm as the library behind them disappears to the plague created by their ancestors.

The ring glints as one final ray of light shoots through the storm like a spotlight. The ring and hand are in the eye of the storm. Darkness surrounds them. The faint outline of the tree glints, pushing back, trying to create the light, trying to fight the doom that was administered years ago.

Then, as if it was never even there, darkness.

The earth remembers what we forget.