To Thrive

On the first day of my 19th year, my grandmother died of thirst. Three days later, my grandfather joined her in the great beyond. I am alone. Starting before I formed my first memory, I've watched my people wither, like the trees in our woodlands and crops in our fields.

On the day of my grandfather's funeral, I offered myself, as a volunteer, to hunt for water. My people believe the water is swiftly going the way of the cities of our ancestors, back into the Earth, which will soon be unable to sustain life.

My grandmother once told me that her mother's generation developed tools to cool the planet and store and filter water. We have never seen these things; the ancient metropolises took their technology with them when they were destroyed by violent storms.

I've seen photos of my great-grandmother in the days after our town's founding. In my favorite, she stands at the edge of a rushing river with wildflowers in her hair and a gold, heart-shaped locket dangling from her neck. The landscape behind her is speckled with sagebrush and junipers.

The hamlet I walk through now presents a very different scene. The small, wooden houses are dilapidated and coated in a thick layer of red dust. Our soil is hard, unforgiving clay, and impenetrable. Water often evaporates on its surface.

The land, once covered in lush evergreens, now hosts only their skeletons. The gnarled trunks jut from the Earth, twisted and polished from constant bombardment by sandstorms.

I walk into the wash, where a humble creek trickles over smooth, colorful pebbles. Where the water is clearest, I fill two bottles. This is all my people can spare, so I need to finish my task quickly.

As I leave, I follow the riverbed instead of the road to avoid the eyes of my neighbors. I know what I will find in them: quiet sadness, false hope, and heartbroken goodbyes. Most of them don't anticipate seeing me again.

When the mounds of dirt transform into sculpted stone canyon cliffs, I find the road again. Deep cracks spiderweb across the asphalt where it is still visible. Lichen clings to the jagged edges and large chunks that long-ago broke free.

I reach a familiar curve on the highway, where a small cave lies hidden behind piles of rubble. I climb in and lay my head on the damp floor. This is where I sleep until nightfall when the temperature falls enough for travel.

After waking, my path is illuminated by moonlight, and I start my slow trek up the mountain. Gravel crunches under my feet with each step, resonating on the stony walls. However, when I'm still, I'm enveloped in complete silence.

The creatures that once roamed these lands are long gone. They either moved to more viable environments or died.

In the early morning hours, I watch the sunrise over the valley. Sloping hills of tan and black cascade toward a gaping maw, a monstrous crevice at the edge of the horizon. This is the farthest I've ever been from home.

With precious sweat crawling down my neck, I stop in an old cabin to rest for the day. Near the highest peak, I'll use this location as my home base. This is where I'll rest and record what I've found on fragile scraps of paper.

For three days, I explore the dry basins and decaying forests for traces of life, without luck. Finally, after eating a breakfast of dried cactus fruit and the last of my water, I set out on my final day. I'm out of provisions, and I fully expect to give myself back to Gaia.

With the stars to guide me, I navigate my way through stacks of fallen timber and find myself at the rivulet that runs through my town, no more vital than it is at home. I accompany it as it meanders through lifeless meadows, shimmering in the silver moonshine.

As the moon sets behind me, and the red hues of the sun light up the sky, I notice an aroma in the breeze, earthy and alive. I soon find a grove of pines, their needles still soft and new. I run my fingers across the rough bark, and they come away sticky with sap.

I stare at them with wonder, my chest heaving and my mouth agape. There are voices in the distance. I let them lead me out of the woods to a well-worn footpath.

Green grasses grow in tufts along the trail, and pink, blue and white flowers dance with the gentle wind. Then, in shock, I break into a run, sobbing and desperate.

I move at such a frenzied pace, blinded by tears that I don't realize I've found the source of the voice until I run headlong into one of the men they belonged to. Before I can fall backward, he grabs me by my arms and holds me steady.

"Where did you come from?" he asks, with wide eyes and furrowed brows.

I don't answer. Behind him, I see water. A great lake of crystalline liquid, swelling against a concrete barrier. A weak stream creeps from the other side of the wall on its way to my people.

My lips tremble, and my body is wracked with uncontrollable shivers. Here, they have abundance, while we rot below, with nothing. How do they not know?