by Allison Lee
Year 2031, Malaysia
It’s snowing in Malaysia, if you can believe that. Has been for months. White is no longer the emblem of purity and all things heavenly; it spells doom for us now. Only the cosmic creator knows how much longer before we run out of resources and ideas, before the Earth becomes encapsulated in a sheet of crystal white and so do we.
I drag my feet out of bed into the kitchen and devour whatever canned food remains on the shelves. I can still taste the flavor of crops and poultry on the tips of my taste buds from three seasons ago. Now, everything comes synthesized, packaged neatly in dull aluminum cans.
Then I get dressed. I turn on the radio as I pull the layers over my head: fleece ensemble, sweater, lab coat, insulation jacket, fox fur coat. Gloves, hat, mask. “This fine morning, negative fifteen degrees Celsius graces the world. We are expecting a light flurry of snow for pre-noon hours and clear skies after. Keep your layers thick…”
The next moment I am out the door. The route to the laboratory is etched in my mind and translates to my footsteps effortlessly, yet my gait is stunted by the sidewalk. There, just an inch next to my boots, lies a singular blue iris, blooming in all its glory. A surge of pure warmth rises in me, one I have not felt in a long time. For the past ten months, every morsel of heat came from a synthetic source, but this time, it is like having the sun’s rays shine inside of me.
Giddily, I sample the iris and make for the lab, heart pounding with the might of a thousand suns. Along my path, all I can see is snow atop snow; a thick white duvet that blankets our country as it does all nations of the world. I watch my breath condense as I scoff at the thought of how mankind’s collective trajectory was thwarted within a matter of mere months.
The cold air pricks through my skin and sends chills down my spine. Frost scales the sides of buildings and stalagmites build up from the ground, languidly reaching up toward the stalactites that creep under bridges and bus shelters. My footsteps cease as a discolored poster blows against a bus shelter pane. I was there when these posters were first created ten months ago: global temperatures had risen once again, courtesy of governments refusing to take immediate action to quell climate change. I was in the streets with thousands more, makeshift signs in our hands, chants reverberating from our larynxes. The movement didn’t only cover Southeast Asia, fainting from unending heat waves; every country saw similar protests, if not larger and more chaotic. We stormed capitals, demanding a response from those in charge, only to be on the receiving end of silence and tear gas.
I continued my journey with haste, allowing events that tailed the protest to play in my mind, the consequences of missing cosmic deadlines. The icebergs melted first. Viruses unknown to records awoke from hibernation, eager to plague the Earth. Epidemics eclipsed every inch of every city, claiming lives by the millions. Rising sea levels proceeded to flood cities, many now a bastion of the past for the future, their forms eternal and submerged under ice. Who could’ve known the fate of those sunken metropolises? All we knew at the time was that a shadow of demise had loomed over our planet.
Things worsened over the span of weeks: temperatures escalated and death tolls skyrocketed in wake of famine, hyperthermia, nationwide forest fires, and incurable illnesses blossoming too rapidly for viable cures to be found. In a last-ditch effort, governments sanctioned the launch of a rocket chock-full of cooling agents into the atmosphere. Amidst the panic, they thought a return to previous temperatures would put the viruses back to dormancy and climate back to normalcy—they thought wrong.
Temperatures cooled as planned—in fact, too far below targeted levels. The aftermath was catastrophic: crops withered, cities blacked out, transportation ground to a halt, and while half of the viruses were successfully eradicated, many had already found refuge in the living. My breath hitches at the thought of how my species single-handedly doomed the planet.
With the university campus near in sight, I speed up and tighten my coat around my body. Guilt pierces my heart as my fingers run through the fur coat; even thick-furred animals failed to adapt to the abrupt change in the climate. In an act of greed, we skinned the poor creatures for their furs. The words of my government still sting my ear: “A regrettable sacrifice for the endurance of humanity”.
I shed off a layer as I set foot inside the university halls, space heaters blasting in all directions. The hallway is lit by the bustle of labs, rows of experiments and testing in progress, a flurry of researchers hurrying about. Every member of society now shoulders the duty of global recovery, working alongside scientists in collective desperation to warm the planet.
I stride down the hallway as my eyes scan the perimeter for the Head Professor. Each lab is vast, accommodating plentiful equipment with additional space for scientists to work at safe distances. The livestock team is busy experimenting with cloning techniques for farm animals that miraculously survived, while a smaller group attempts to perfect synthetic meat; the greenhouse opposite the livestock lab is occupied with growing trial crops in the harsh freeze; a team of lawyers is employed in the hatching of a definitive plan to ensure the ecological sustainability of future heavy industry; others are testing artificial heating agents that would allow the Earth to recuperate.
“Professor!” I exclaim, spotting her iconic red coat at the turn of a corner. I quicken my pace, the sampled iris kit dangling from my hand—a blossoming symbol of hope for life.