How did we get Here?

The belfry's window, located above the library, offered one of the best views in all of town. The tower overlooked the giant forest to the east. Days of peaceful solitude, filled with the sound of rustling leaves. A bird's song, echoed in the distance. A light whistle of wind as it travels through tiny cracks in the old stone. Catching the first rays of yellow and gold highlighting the mountains was one of the wonders this tiny town could offer. It was a special sanctuary.

I volunteered to be the bell ringer. Sounding the bell at dawn, midday, and dusk. It was a tradition passed down from our ancestors to signal the town had vibrance. Being introverted, I jumped at the opportunity to exist in quiet solitude. I spent most of my days away from school writing. It wasn't until I was caught and grounded for skipping that I began going to school more consistently. It helped me to hone my technical writing skills so I was okay with it.

Ringing the bell every day earned me a slight allowance. I saved enough to buy myself a typewriter, upgrading from pencils to ink. Climbing the tower in the early morning, the sweet and spicy smell of chai tea spiked my brain's dopamine receptors. Rays of gold and pink cast themselves throughout the building as a dark blue sky faded to dawn… it was a ritual. Today, a crisp cool breeze that smells of wet grass. Winter turning to spring.

The forest was now smaller than when I was a child. The population started to grow over the years and the town needed space, so we began to use the trees for lumber. The town turned the deforested land into farmland which helped to spike the food stores and eventually lead us to trade with nearby civilizations. This enriched the culture. Art from neighboring villages and styles of dress began to appear more often. Dangerous animals that had threatened us before were seen less often as they were pushed farther away from town. Everyone was happy and the land was thriving. Everything was good. People felt safe.

By 18 I was spending less time in the tower. During the day, I was out working for the lumber company. It wasn't my favorite, but it paid the most and with my mom unable to work full-time due to her sickness, I needed to be of service. At night you could find me behind the clicking keys of my typewriter. Staying up later than is healthy for the sane mind, but loving every minute of the sleepless process of creation.

My first book was published by the time I was 22. My mother was to thank. She found my writing and submitted it to as many publishers as she could manage. One of them believed enough in me that they agreed to publish my book after some necessary editing. I had no clue how many rejection letters were sent my way during that time until I found them stashed away years later. My mom shielded me from most of the rejection, which I believe helped me stay confident in my storytelling abilities.

At first, the change was gradual. After my first book hit the shelves it took about a year to fully see the benefits. Money started to flow more frequently. People around town were excited to meet the town's first "celebrity." I began signing books for those who would spot me out and about. It felt nice at first, but eventually, I came to realize that over half of those people never actually read my book. Oh, well. Such is the life of an author.

The belfry was now more of a philosopher's den. I would go to take in the view and ponder how much the town had changed and what the future might look like. Would our actions have consequences or would we continue down this path of abundance? Many nights I could be found here spending time on matters of the universe and all things metaphysical.

The night before I left for my first book reading, I visited the tower. The silver wisps of the full moonlight illuminated the belfry, reflecting fairy-like lights all around. The crickets chimed a beautiful melody in the distant wood. Smoke trailed into the night sky and candles flickered in many windows throughout the large town and amongst the farmlands. I watched the stars twinkle for a time, pondering and writing down my thoughts in a journal I had recently acquired from a new local bookstore. Descending the ladder that night was the last time I'd see that view for a very long time.

I spent years on the road, writing and exploring the world, seeing sights I'd felt only existed in books. My mother was well taken care of and the town's economy was booming. While traveling, I met my wife at a book signing. She was the only one that showed up. We decided to go for coffee. That was the start of something beautiful. I published a few more books throughout the years. My wife and I never had kids but her sisters had enough for us to be happy as aunts and uncles. Life was good. Until the sickness won.

I got the news a few days before my 46th birthday. My mom died. That night I lay with my wife and cried myself to sleep. It was a grief I had never known. We packed our bags and made our way back to my hometown the next morning.

The drive was long. My heart was heavy with the sadness of losing my mom. How I never got to say goodbye. I had never known a life without a mother. What would it be? I tried to convince myself not to feel guilty for staying away all these years, but there was no use. The grief was overwhelming so I tried to focus on something positive. Sunsets. Golds and oranges create fire in the sky. Purples and blues are painted vibrantly amongst fading clouds. Reds and yellows going to war every evening. The landscape morphs from mountains to deserts to prairies and back again.

When we arrived in my town, I barely recognized it. My mom would keep me up to date with what was going on, but I brushed it off thinking it was just her caught in her old ways. To see it in person turned my grief into anger. The sky was hazy and faded orange-gray, full of smoke and smog from the factories. The once lush forest was nothing but a barren wasteland. Withered crops, shriveled and chopped trees, and dead soil for miles.

In town, the homeless littered the streets. Some areas were unrecognizable to me. Businesses shut down with boarded windows. Vacant lots with still toppled buildings. Cracked streets and broken people everywhere. As I passed toward the outskirts of town where my mother lived, things seemed to calm down a bit. A few more living plants, but none are as vibrant as they used to be. Construction on some giant building off in the distance had begun but stopped halfway... probably another factory. As I pulled into my mother's driveway a flood of memories came rushing back. I couldn't help but cry. The bleakness and the loss were overwhelming.

I told my wife I wanted to take a walk to clear my head. I decided to go to the old belfry. The library was still opened, but run down and covered in graffiti. It took some convincing for the librarian to let me into the tower but after some haggling, they agreed. As I gazed out of the window my heart sank. The view from above was even worse than below. The devastation to the ecosystem was immense… an unrecognizable dystopia.

The largest lake, a favorite spot to visit in the hot summers, was brown and bubbling yellow foam. The image of a hot chocolate someone left out overnight. The sky looked like mucus from an upper respiratory infection. The factories were poisoning the air by pumping white clouds of smoke into a green-gray sky. We took something beautiful and destroyed it.

My wife and I moved to a nearby town after my mother's death. Over the years I tried my best to save this place but I was too late to make an impact. The soil wouldn't grow enough food to sustain the population. Citizens began to fight over resources. Those who could afford to escape left. Others stayed, either because of foolish egos or because they had to. A lot of starvation.

With deforestation came even more air pollution. Toward the end, most people walked around with face protection so as to not breathe in the contaminated air. Any day you had to go out you'd be accompanied by a scratch in the back of your throat and a possible sinus infection. If you had asthma or COPD, staying away from long periods outdoors was recommended. Depression rose and most of the elderly population declined around. Nothing survived very long without healthy air. Even the animals, who had moved closer to town for better food sources, had vanished.

Once the epidemic struck, it was officially over for the town. Many died during this time. Many fled. The factories were hit the hardest. The businesses next. The economy collapsed and the town along with it. For years since people have come to see the largest ghost town this side of the country. I've visited this window so many times since then. It's no longer peaceful at night. Not even with the silvery slivers of moonlight reflecting off the bell. The silence was deafening. No more nightly choirs of distant critters. No more clear sky with blinking stars. The town was dead and the world continued on.

I'm 86 now and what happened to my home is, unfortunately, starting to happen all around the world. Only those of us who have been through it see it for what it is. It plays out the same. Every time. Some of us try, but some are never enough. Other towns and cities have joined ours throughout the time I've been alive. I've seen the extinction of many species and I've come to understand that ours isn't far behind unless something changes. I'm afraid I won't be around to see the day that things do change, but I still try and do my part the best I can in my old age. As I stand at the precipice of this once beautiful world, I picture the days when things were peaceful and everything was able to coexist. I remember the birds… the sky… the sunsets… and I know it can be again. If only we put a little effort into it. Until then, I'll look out of this window and hold dear to me the memories of a long-forgotten past.