Futurism is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.
How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.
How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.
To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.Show less
(Note: Writing prompt is taken from Publishing School)
Mom has always been proud of her garden, an array of full blooming flowers and perfectly trimmed bushes giving a pleasant welcome to the front door. But lately the colors have been dulling, the buds are less and less, and the bees and butterflies aren't making their usual visits. Mom loved those visits, as she would sit outside and watch them buzz and fly from one flower to the next collecting as much pollen as they could carry on their legs. She always said that if everyone had their own heaven, this would be hers.
The sun beat down with hot aggression making it almost unbearable to be out. Mom still tended her withering garden, hoping that by some stroke of luck or miracle it would come back as lush and beautiful as ever. But it hasn't yet. The news kept saying the waters were polluted and were drying up which is causing a drought and they aren't sure how long it was going to last. Rain hasn't been felt in months, and its showing as the grass is drying and turning brown.
Mom had kept the news on, listening about the waters and the irreversible damages the drought would cause. As lakes are dying people are finding the lake beds littered with man-made waste and dead fish with bellies full of plastic. Even with a clean-up crew working diligently, they are saying that it may be too late; the damage is done, and now we are paying the price.
Many people are feeling the effects, as farmers aren't harvesting nearly as much as needed, barely keeping enough for their own families to survive. And what is being harvested and sold are being sold at alarmingly high rates.
"It's not even just the water pollution," Mom stated as she served what little dinner she prepared between us. "We are killing this Earth. Look at everything we use, people are still driving cars, for Pete's sake! I mean, today I saw one little bee trying to make its way to a flower. Poor soul was obviously in distress, I doubt they'll survive with how the Earth is deteriorating."
She's passionate about this single planet that we live in. "This is our home, why are people killing it? Cutting down trees... do they even know how important those are! They're more worried about lining their pockets with money to even worry about what they are doing to this Earth. If protecting this Earth was as profitable as cutting down a tree more and more people would be saving us instead."
She had a point. Millions of acres of forests have been cleared away to make new housing when so many houses are going unused today. Are people so desperate that they need to live in a house that no one else has lived in? What about the countless species of birds, animals, and insects that rely on these very trees for their homes?
Honestly, this isn't surprising. The Earth is getting weaker with more and more man-made products polluting her, making her sick. We are parasites living off the once beautiful host who had welcomed us so gracefully in the beginning. And now, the rising temperatures are her fevers, the lack of lakes and dwindling oceans are her being dehydrated, as she desperately gasps for air as we cut her oxygen supplies down. It's no wonder why she's dying when we're are the ones killing her.
We are the ones injecting the poison into her soils, killing the other many creatures who thrive off of the very same Earth, simply because we don't like them, for being a nuisance to us. People aren't realizing that what we are doing to this Earth she is slowly doing to us, and it may be too late.
I watched as Mom makes her way out into the heat to give water she can spare to her prized plants, hoping that it would be enough to bring back bees or a butterfly, maybe even a hummingbird. She sits on the porch waiting, her hopes high at first and then her heart breaks as her little insect friends refuse to make their visits today.
People say we have all the time in the world to fix things, but what if the world doesn't have the time? Mom knows that time is running as low as the water levels, and if we don't help heal the Earth she will surely get rid of us, and I hope that if that day comes, then maybe our Earth will be well again, and new life returns who will cherish her beautiful generosity, and succeed where we failed.