Strategy 2030

I had been told that many years ago, the world was a beautiful place. There was life; in people, in plants, in art, in TV – it reached every part of the planet. There had been bad things; war and famines and corruption but the promise for change hung in the air, there was always a sense of possibility and of better things to come. The summers were hot and clear and the winters cold and crisp but now – here in the same place as all those years before – the summers are too hot and the winters too cold. That’s why we’re here, locked up in our looming blocks.

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They were built decades ago, covered in walls of plants in an attempt to salvage some of the living world but underneath this facade there isn’t rich soil, only crumbling grey concrete. The connecting bridges had fallen long ago, fallen under the weight of the community who crossed them each day. Those who had died with them were never spoken of, that was always the case. So many things were left unsaid – if they were even breathed into existence life would seem even more unbearable, even more pointless. What was left of that forgotten world was simply the tales that had lived on. Like the old myths from centuries ago these stories of the wealth of life were also unattainable legends.

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I have been in this tower for twenty five years, just waiting for someone to die so I can get a small taste of freedom. The tower blocks were built to accommodate our expanding population but they were built into the environment which resulted in virus after virus. The last one had finally died out by the time I was born but for most of my parents lives it was all they had known; constantly living on edge. I suppose the start of my own life gave them a fresh sense of hopefulness. At school we were told that these viruses had been a result of the animals whose homes we were destroying to create our own. Our selfish needs became life threatening; the silver lining line that ‘the loss of population had allowed for a relaxing of the pressure on our food suppliers’ was constantly churned out. The stories of these majestic animals always made me consider the cost of our growing population. We were told stories of the devasting effects our ancestors had on the planet but we were also taught about the lives they were living or rather the life around them that they were destroying. It all seemed contradictory – my ancestors most likely thought they were so evolved, so enlightened but my education has only shown me their ignorance. The lack of care for me, the world I exist in, it’s almost a prison sentence. I often think of my parent’s selfishness for bringing me into a doomed existence. What hope do any of my children have in a world that is dying before me? Nothing will outweigh their hardships. They won’t have the hope that the countries had all those years ago. They would simply exist in order to fulfil the needs of the state, to continue an existence until the world finally dies out, like I am. If I brought a child into that world I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.

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I have never left this tower. I have read stories of the past world. Adventurers finding new land, new plant species and new little corners of the Earth that people could explore. But since the bridges fell we have all been inside. If I were to go outside I would be surrounded by dehydrated land – nothing but dessert and miles and miles of solar panels. What new life can I find there? These stories of my ancestors provide me with a picture of what the world once was and when I open my blinds in the morning I am presented with the bleakness of my own environment. It never fails to jar me, sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me for thinking this way. We are told that we have everything we need in our one building, to venture outside means we might risk illness or unnecessary consumption of energy that is needed to sustain our lives in these tower blocks. It would be selfish to go outside and risk our neighbour’s health and selfishness is why we’re here in the first place. Our ancestors were blind to the concept.

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I am not sure how I am supposed to feel but I dream of venturing outside; to have the wind tangle through my hair and bustle through my clothes, to feel the sand between my toes and to touch our precious Earth. A recurring dream follows me walking out into the orange abyss, I close my eyes and smile as the scorching sun bakes my face but then suddenly my back turns cold and I am awoken by the gunshot that passes through my ribs.  My friends have told me to pay it no mind but I had heard of someone years ago who had proclaimed that dreams had profound meanings. In those times you had room to think about such profound things. All I am told to think about is my job and my family. What more do I need to focus on than my existence inside this singular tower block? I don’t have the resources to worry about the tower blocks that surround me or the future of our society. There will be no future so there is little point, my thoughts would go unresearched, unexplored. So why ever mention them or try to rationalise them? Yet sometimes that dream keeps me sane.

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I was told once that there had been something that could have been done – there had been time to research and explore our options. For the state to listen to the scientists and change the span of our planet’s life. But they had been enjoying the prosperity of their own lives too much and the rest of the world had been forgotten, pushed aside. Now the Earth is dying and all I can think is that my ancestors could have prevented it. Sometimes my resentment is so powerful it fills me up with sickness and rage and the thought of walking in the dessert with the sun on my face and the coldness at my back seems so appealing.