DRAWN BY THE SEA

They were on his tail. He rushed through the bulkhead door, machine pistol in hand, letting staccato fire zip behind him. Coming out on deck was deliberate. More room to fight – more chances to stay alive.
The Mega Corps troopers poured out, determined to intervene in his mission, rounds flying, sparking off the metal of the deck and cabins.
He was tired, without nourishment, but as he dived for cover he knew he had to keep going – succeed. The planet depended on it.
Letting off another burst, he took the small control panel from his pocket. Clicked ready, and a green light came on.
He imagined what would happen in the depths below him. It had taken him so long to gain access to the shuttle sub and make it to Mega Corps One to plant the device – that vast, horrendous power station at the bottom of the sea, releasing methane and CO2 in apocalyptic amounts.
He checked his watch. Knew it was time. And equally knew he chances of survival were few.
He dived, drawn by the sea, and as he flew off the deck, bullets ripped into his back.
Soon he was sinking fast, into the water, and into death. But he still had the strength and pressed the button.
The flash rose, deep orange, from the depths …

The boy sat up in bed, covered in sweat. He knew all too well that if you died in a dream you could die in real life, so he was glad he woke up.
It had been a dream concerning his mission in life – to save the planet for the next generation, ‘cos the previous had failed him.
He got out of bed. Walked out the door. Stood on the early morning beach, watching the waves he loved. Then, to his left, the shadow of the vile power station consumed him, vomiting its devastation, adding to the chemical stew that would melt the ice and raise the level of the oceans.
He WOULD be an eco-warrior, he knew. For he realized the importance of the coastline – knew that it, his country, his society, the land itself, must not be re-drawn by the sea.

© Anthony North, October 2008

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AUTUMN MEMORIES

Watching.
The days darken – the sun, when it shines, a colder orb, no longer nourishing – no longer washing the land with life giving heat.
Watching.
The sky growing angry – blue turning to grey, clouds changing from fluffy majesty to black, swirling masses – and the rain, and the wind, and the anger batters the land.
Watching.
The flowers wilting, decimated – the grass ceasing to grow, the trees showing signs of decay, the leaves losing moisture, becoming brittle, blown off, scattered, by the angry wind.
Watching.
People covering up – chilled – a sunken mood about them, going this way and that more slowly, shoulders drooped, as if in the presence of death.
Watching.
Over this eternal story, not of death, but of respite before renewal, in never ending cycles of continued existence, an end the precursor of a new beginning.
Hoping.
That one day man may remember that in loss there is new life – that existence is more than the individual, but continuance of everything in the cycles of on going creation.
Knowing.
That this is true. For I am your planet.

© Anthony North, November 2008

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FILL IT UP

The judge sat in solemn silence. It had been a difficult case – one he thought he would never have to deal with in his life time. Such a crime was genuinely thought to have been eradicated. But no.
‘And once he had built the vehicle, he filled it up with the liquid fuel he had made. Switching it on, it produced emissions.’
The jury had been shocked by the details – this terrible crime against the planet. All the technical jargon had followed, plus the motive, the damning evidence. It appeared an open and shut case, but what had driven him to his actions was still unclear. Maybe such madness would never be understood now.
The judge thought whether insanity could be invoked for his actions, but he quickly decided the verdict of guilty gave him little choice. And as he spoke the words he never thought would ever again be uttered, he felt a deep sadness.
‘Energy footprint terminated.’
Later, after sentence had been carried out, he wandered outside to the Martian landscape. The terraforming was well advanced now, with ample atmosphere and vegetation. Even the occasional rudimentary animal could be seen. Yet the air was thin enough to see that raging ball of boiling energy that had once been Earth.

© Anthony North, December 2008

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POLLY AND THE WASTEFUL NEIGHBOUR

Polly Picasso had often wondered if life imitated art, but no more. Her life was proof that it does. Indeed, she was reflecting on this one morning when, suddenly, the heaviest of heavy metal filled the air. Rushing to the window, her neighbour was at it again, music blasting out of the open window, and at a regular period, empty beer cans pinged out of the window, landing in the can along with all the other rubbish. Some people, thought Polly Picasso, will just NOT recycle.
Determined to make a difference, she immediately went to her work table – took up all manner of paints, crayons and other arty stuff, and in no time at all she had made a perfect image of recycling. She then went to her magic rug, sat down silently and meditated, safe in the knowledge that her art magic would work.
It was a month later that she spied her neighbour going outside and placing the can in his new array of recycling containers. Even his music was quieter, she thought, and her magic had certainly worked.
He, on the other hand, had not been so sure at first. After all, it soon became annoying finding a different small painting in his mail box every morning. From recycling bins, to destroyed rainforests, to images of violent weather, they infuriated him. Several times he waited up all night, shotgun in hand, waiting for the pest to appear. But eventually the message had sunk in.
And it was with pride that Polly Picasso realized her art magic had worked once more. However, she was slightly disturbed when, with a gurgle and a bang, the daily waste and residue of artistic endeavour finally blocked the pipes, and the plumbing did a bit of recycling of its own.
Still, life, art and magic can be like that some times, she knew.

© Anthony North, April 2008