Our World from Their Eyes

This is a fictional dystopian descriptive piece that I wrote to channel my creativity while spreading awareness about the dangers of disregarding our planet. By telling the story of what could be through the eyes of the future generations, I intend to highlight the importance of respecting and valuing the world we are lucky to be residents of. It’s not just the duty of a few people to combat global warming, but for everyone to work together to reverse the effects we’ve created.

I opened my eyes, unable to attune to the intensity of the sunlight as it permeated through my half-ripped curtains. The scorching sunlight burned through my sensitive skin as I winced, struggling to pull myself off the rickety bed I slept in. I walked to my window groggily, grabbing a pair of prescribed sunglasses to shield my eyes from the brutal rays of sunlight that bounced off the corners of my small room, the paint gradually peeling off my walls. I turned my attention to the window, staring at the barren wasteland in front of me, only dying trees and a horrid drought- that plagued the Earth- in sight. Every single crack in the dry soil outside seemed to speak a story of its own- stories of our carelessness haunted me in my sleep, and I couldn’t help but wonder why they didn’t do anything for us. Why were we victims to our own decisions?

I walked through my empty yet painfully loud living room, the generators screaming to power the needlessly large house with unsustainable sources of power. The screeching, almost authoritative noise rumbled to its occasional halt as I fanned myself with a paper despite the air conditioner blasting in my room. I wearily walked to the front of my house- once my aunt’s beach getaway- which was now yet another cuboid amidst plenty of other soulless buildings, to get a breath of what was now known as fresh air. The pungent smell of poisonous, grey and menacing smoke permeated through me, evoking a sense of repulsion, yet exhaustion. The highway, which was just a few streets over from the house invaded any state of peace I found myself in, the careless and stubborn sound of car alarms and horns blaring through the uneasy atmosphere. As I raked my eyes across the unnervingly crowded neighborhood in front of me, I wondered which moment it was when they just gave up- or if they even tried.

Heading inside to sit on my crusty old couch, I began thinking about how my dreams had transitioned from dark, barren, and neurotic, to dreams of what could’ve been- and I didn’t know what was worse. Visions of green fields, giant windmills, and small cottages invaded my thoughts as I sighed in contemplation. I closed my eyes, remembering what I had thought of; I sat in an electric car with a friend of mine (before the ice melted and all the atrocities that were frozen shut came flowing out), my hair blowing in the fresh summer breeze. My eyes twitched, tears threatening to spill, but I pushed it away, allowing myself to indulge in even a brief moment of reminiscence. Evergreen palm trees and beautiful colorful flowers lined the side of the roads and almost everyone seemed to be thankful for the perfect weather.

As quickly as the vision infiltrated my usually secure mind, it was gone, and I was left with nothing but emptiness. I never thought it was fair that they had the childhood we should’ve also experienced. Apart from the rapidly deteriorating climate, life expectancy was at an all-time low- nobody had the motivation that once was. Not the doctors, who were meant to save us all facing side-effects from the terror we’d unleashed- not the teachers, who finally realized that even educating the current generation wouldn’t reverse the effects we’d made, and not even the parents. The parents who were meant to love and support us throughout it all- I resented mine for the longest time, but upon asking myself if I’d like to slowly watch my child’s life fall apart as they’re eaten away on the inside, I understood why they stayed away.

But hey, to all the rich politicians in your ginormous mansions and unlimited bank accounts, I hope it was worth it.

Notice: This short story was thought of, written, and edited by me, Manvi B. Garg. Any form of redistribution or reproduction of any published work is not allowed! If you would like to re-post my work, please email me or go on the Euphoric Waves Instagram for permission first!