Staring at the dried waterhole, I can feel my tongue drying out with the last hope for water. The planet\u2019s dead. And so are most of its inhabitants. That\u2019s what we get for using all its resources. Pure selfishness, really. Touching the clay basin, the remnants of moisture collecting on my fingertips, I can tell I\u2019ve only missed it by a day.<\/p>\n
The sun burns into my eyes. When I was a child, the days the sun poked out from the clouds was to be cherished at the beach, or park. Somewhere your family could gather and enjoy the warmth. Now, its rays tear away life. Shriveled plants and skeletons prove its devastating force.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s got to be another puddle around here somewhere,\u201d my sister says.<\/p>\n
She\u2019s still young enough for optimism. I know our best chance is to return to the cave. I can\u2019t tell her that. I can\u2019t dash her hopes. \u201cSure, let\u2019s check over that ridge.\u201d<\/p>\n
Scrunching her face into a furrowed knot, she says, \u201cWhoever said the war would help was an idiot. Where was that guy from? Greece? Guyana? It was something with a G.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust worry about keeping the bag in the shade. We don\u2019t want to spoil the food we\u2019ve found,\u201d I reply. \u201cForget about the war. It\u2019s over. There\u2019s nothing we can do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Nukes. That\u2019s what really took us down. People literally huddled into bunkers, caves and basements. Anything to stay safe and away from the terror above. The sun took its toll, but it was the irrational delusion that war could save our planet that cut us off at the knees. The mushrooms and apples we found were a godsend. Enough to feed us for a week. Funny, when life was easy, before the bombs, we would probably have eaten through it in a day.<\/p>\n
Our tired feet carried us over the ridge to where a pond once engulfed the entire watershed. Now, it\u2019s reduced to a puddle too small for the dozens of birds crowding it to get their ankles wet. \u201cShoo! Get!\u201d my sister shouts, flailing her arms as she rushes towards the water source. The birds don\u2019t scatter. Not anymore. This is there lifeline as well.<\/p>\n
She resorts to throwing rocks, but it\u2019s useless. \u201cForget it. We\u2019ll just fill our bottles. Ignore them,\u201d I say, stepping into the mud flats that stretch out from the puddle. My heart freezes. In the middle of the flock of misfits birds was a hare. Something substantial to eat. Without any weapons, birds are impossible to catch. But a rabbit, that could be snared. I hear the breath of air suck into my sister\u2019s lungs as she spots the critter.<\/p>\n
It takes all that we can muster not to dive into the water after the meaty beast. Its brown eyes wide and unassuming as it laps the sustenance. \u201cFood,\u201d my sister muttered. Big mistake. That one little grumble catches the rabbit\u2019s attention, turning its fury face in our direction. In an instant, the killer instinct disappears inside me. All we each want is a drink of water. Something to keep us alive until tomorrow. I sigh. \u201cFill the bottles. That\u2019s it.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Staring at the dried waterhole, I can feel my tongue drying out with the last hope for water. The planet\u2019s dead. And so are most of its inhabitants. That\u2019s what we get for using all its resources. Pure selfishness, really. Touching the clay basin, the remnants of moisture collecting on my fingertips, I can tell […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[22,21],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-375","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-planet-earth","category-writers-sketch"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p2YHlB-63","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rachelhorwitz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/375","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rachelhorwitz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rachelhorwitz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rachelhorwitz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rachelhorwitz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=375"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.rachelhorwitz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/375\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":377,"href":"https:\/\/www.rachelhorwitz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/375\/revisions\/377"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rachelhorwitz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=375"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rachelhorwitz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=375"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rachelhorwitz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=375"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}