Parched

I can still remember the sounds. The variety was always something that astounded me, even its silence was something that rang in your ears.

There were days where I could describe its voice as soft and lilting, a gentle lapping against the rocks and children's feet. The sun would tease you from between the leaves of towering trees, your ankles crossed over one another, your was breath easy then.

I remember how the birds were a control, an animal you could rely on being there, regardless of what voice you heard. On the calm days you could hear them chirping, natures wonderful harmony melting together with the lapping shore. On the stormy days, these were my favourite, you would see the larger sea birds. Steel grey feathers a reflection of the stark colours found in furious tides. Diving deeply, without fear, under the treacherous waves, a captivating display of what taught my ancestors how to fish.

The sounds of these days survive now only in memory of those who sat back and watched, as those who were once humble hunters and gatherers, became so driven by their greed that they left the ocean behind. There are those of us, like me and you, who remember, because we fought for it. We understood the importance of the crashing waves, the drums and symbols, a symphony created by the sea and sky. We knew, that not only was the surface important, but the millions of life forms who lived underneath, had massive roles to play. We fought valiantly, passionately, but those corrupted by money, the only green thing they cherished, ignored our pleas.

I think back on those stormy days when I would look out the windows and watch the earth be hammered by stiff needles of rain. To see the wind, howling its defiance, whip up our waste and scatter it across the sky.

I remember the trash being swung around because after the storm, it seemed only then, were the rich bothered by the waste of their constant consumption. Bothered, because now, instead of the ocean, it was in their gardens. It covered their massive, shiny cars, bunged up their gutters and littered their fastidiously kept lawns. Discarded plastic water bottles, fruit flavoured, alcoholic, low calorie soda cans, glass bottles of expensive champagne.., I can still smell the mixture.

After the storm I would run out to collect them. We had a system in place that if we returned them we would get small rewards that we could use to buy our food. Once I adored storms for the dramatic landscape it painted, and the music it composed, but now I relied on them for those bottles.

It seems every beautiful memory I have of what this world once was is now tainted in some way or other. There are even some that no longer exist. They've been scorched, bulldozed, starved and eradicated.

There was a pond I used to visit with friends. We would hike for hours to get to it. We would arrive tired, bruised, and bitten all over by mosquitoes, just to sit on top of a very large rock and look out over the glistening, turquoise pond, bursting with life.

That pond is gone now.

The rock we sat on overlooking it has been broken down into pebbles, and mixed with the blood of those who died breaking it up, to create the concrete needed to make The Data Centres. When the oceans, ponds and lakes went dry, the only additive to make concrete was us, the workers.

Where the pond was, is now only green sludge. Ironic how they destroyed the woods and foliage around them, every shade of green imaginable, to create this new shade. One that cannot make food, or feed, or shelter. A vile, luminous goo. A byproduct of The Data Centre.

Those of us who threw down our devices, moved back to nature and tried to breathe life into it again, are the only ones who see what's happening. The rest of us, those who kept their phones, are safe and warm in their homes. Watching videos fed to them by The Data Centre based on their likes and dislikes.

They are fed false videos and images of what's happening in the world, news articles about how a species on the brink of extinction has started showing high numbers after 50 years! Videos about how their Chancellor is proud of them for staying home and ordering online, "no need to trouble yourselves with driving to the store, walking around for hours and having to be accosted by the poor! Have our solar powered drones drop everything you need to your home, where you can upload your grocery list into your live in Ai Assistant who will meal prep and cook everything you need!"

He cleverly disguised it as 'saving the environment by not driving everywhere' and 'conserving fuel and energy' but really, he did it because he doesn't want them to see what's become of their planet.

He needn't have done so much work though, before he even knew the word solar, he was elected into office for his racist musings and fascist ideologies. When the people became angry he started using terms like 'solar powered drones' and 'water reservation', to placate the 'lefties', as he called us.

Most of us didn't buy it, but those who adored this strange man, followed his rule without question. The 'lefties' hacked their phones and tried getting videos of the truth of our world to those of us who were blind to it, but he labelled them as 'fake news' and because the truth was terrifying most people were happy to believe him.

They typed the code, sent to them by the government, into their phones and their algorithm went back to peaceful images and online shopping apps.

Don't get me wrong, I am happy I know the truth and that I keep fighting against it, despite how bleak it all seems, but there are days where I wish I had a phone just to see the ocean again.

I have glimpses that I can visit in my mind when things become difficult to handle but those images are smeared by the thought of the last time I went to see it.

Before all this there was the memories of the sounds, the feeling of cool water on hot feet in the summer and riding massive waves off the coast of Cape Cod to go and spot the Humpbacks. Rich, wonderful, exciting memories, now live vacantly at the back of my mind. It almost hurts to try to recall it, but the last time is something I will never forget.

Standing where I stood only 20 years before, at a lush and alive shoreline, that is now the colour of ash. I remember having my anniversary here, looking out at a sail boat and speaking to my husband about pirates, we both loved pirates, and laughing. Under our feet was white sand, soaked through with the incoming tide, now I stand on a new surface.

It reminds me of what we believed Mars to look like, only more bleached. It is harsh, coarse, and a scorched burnt orange. I can't help but huff with amusement at its resemblance to the colour of the the Chancellors face.

There is no ocean anymore. I have ventured for miles into this desert land where it once was and all I can see is bone and sand.

I set up my tent and light a small fire. Fire is something that never belonged in this location, but I push that thought aside and bask in the warm orange glow of the flickering flame.

I think to mysef that we somehow learned to love fluorescence over the flame of a candle. That we worshipped concrete over crepuscular cougars. The cougars are gone now. So many animals are gone. You'd be lucky to find a house cat these days.

My fire casts long shadows across what used to be the ocean floor. Shadows created by the large whale bones jutting from the ground, surrounding me in a sort of grotesque prison of what once was.

I don't weep, I am too dehydrated to allow the tears to come, we all are.

So I lay down in my bed of dissolved crustaceans and decaying sea creatures, and I breathe in as deeply as my shriveled lungs allow me to.

The smell reminding me of those warm summer days by the sea.