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The air was bitter, a hot wind enveloping the whole of the globe in red hues. Cracked lines snaked through the center of the earth, gliding over ice and melted white before passing through extreme deserts and faded green. The last bit of land remained, lopsided over in the middle of a perpetual sea. The bit of land sat, lights on, too bright, smoke too thick, sweltering in a coat of artificial colours. The night passed by, neglecting its helpless state and ensuing despair, neglecting its brightness and how densely packed it was becoming. People darted like ants across its surface, as skyscrapers and cars created noise so deafening the rest of the world was dissipating.

 

Despite all the chaos, something remarkable happened. Two people, hand in hand, breaths breaking through the smog and heat, talked. Talked blithely, as if nothing wrong had occurred or was to ever occur, and walked straight through the hustle of the city and cars. They walked leisurely across the land, even though everyone else was moving as quickly as could be, across the ice and sand overcome by pavement.

 

They walked straight to the center of the globe, and observed for an instant. They observed the wreck of land that was weathered by age and speckled with rust from persistent rain, smog from buildings, and pierced with skyscrapers that reached the heavy atmosphere. They took note of the crowded streets, and trees cut down and ruined, and animals hanging on precariously. They talked and talked, merry, and took from their pockets towels and rags and tools, and they dusted and cleaned the earth, despite the fact that they were the only ones doing so.

by Isabelle Brousseau

January 6, 2023

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Published by Isabelle Brousseau

Isabelle Brousseau is an aspiring author who lives in Bedford, NS. She is 16 years of age, and quite passionate about the environment, which tends to be the subject of most her work!

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