I see no hope. 

     Seconds, days and years have gone by and not even a single grain of rice has become my everlasting saviour. Gradually, I feel the rise of jealousy consuming me- from the day I was born as a bowl, I always thought that I would be the wealthiest of them all and no one would ever be able to compete with me. But that was just a fantasy, a dream, a teardrop of hope wiped away.

    Memories flash past and stab my heart with a damaged dagger of depression. Seeing my friends actively, happily, and elegantly made and being rescued by those prosperous beings has led me to rethink life as a whole.

    Doesn’t every one of us deserve to have an equal amount of optimism in the world?

The harmonious mixture of concrete and nature gives a home to thousands of animals and humans. It was breathtaking. Slowly, the train came to a stop; I stepped onto the platform floor. A flood of emotions washed over me and a singular tear fell from my eye - I was in paradise. 

We built this, or should I say we can build this. 

I was doomed.

Darkness. 

The most painful goodbyes are preventable. If you raise your voice to the rain now, we can end this.

"You are not allowed any"

I look with astonishment at the counter worker.

I immediately become aware of everyone's attention focused on me. Everyone around me is whispering, and I can hear it. Why am I not allowed any?

The counter worker simply stares at me.

I follow his stare till it lands on my sleeve. the sleeve that I've been so proud to display. The sleeve bearing my six-pointed yellow star.

I'm drowning in the silence.

Someone who says, "He's a Jew!" with disgust shatters it.

As I'm being pulled out of the store, the whispers and points are more obvious than ever. I do not yet understand, what did I do wrong?

It's day 783 of the great scorch. There is no point anymore. Ever since the rise in temperature the water evaporated and everything died. It's one dessert.  We could not stop it. This could be my last time writing. It has not rained in 5 days and the water supply is running dry. I have not found any more survivors. I think I'm the last human. The only other thing out here is the sand worms. Their boring underground makes underground tunnels near the mantle. The only chance of survival is to go down into the tunnels and see if there is water there. It's the only hope I have. The worms sense vibrations in the ground so I will hit the ground until one comes and then hook onto its back and ride it. Hopefully, I live. 

Until then ill see you around.

H.C

I’ll never forget the day. The seas rose, and the rain came. The levees broke. Nature’s bath prevailed upon Earth in bountiful sobs. It was just a storm, they said. Nothing to worry about, they said. But when the rain died away to slow, rolling tears, the water didn’t drain - it rose, gushing through streets in a salty tantrum. And with it, our way of life. Echoes of laughter. Long-forgotten memories. 

                        ***

I watch my reflection ripple with every sweeping motion, the canoe tipping slightly with every breath I make; threatening to capsize. As if belonging to an alien being, pale eyes stare blankly back up. And then I saw it. Unfurling beneath the crest of water on which I perch, an entangled mess of the frozen past. Even now, buried beneath an expanse of deep blue, it seems to exude a certain elegance.

I had always wanted to visit Venice. 

Water.

In the evening, I decided to go rogue, and I sprinted to the nearest boat. Immediately, I used my feet to push the boat into a swift motion and paddled deep into the darkness. All was calm, the moon light glistened on the surface… BAM! I felt a bump on my boat. THUMP. Another. Was it the sea monster? I hastily began to paddle back to shore with as much speed as my arms could handle, before I heard somewhat of a wailing sound behind me. It was a turtle, with a sheet of plastic straining its neck. No aggressiveness, no anger, just pain, because of us.

The night was as still as a graveyard; the only movement the swaying of the dove's branch. But as the marchers approached, the dove's eyes slowly fluttered open, as if awakened by the call for peace. It spread its wings, soaring towards the sky, leading the way. With each beat of its wings, the storm began to subside, the thunder quieting to a gentle rumble. And as the dove disappeared into the night 

But in the heart of it all, a group of protestors marched, their voices raised in harmony as they sang of love and unity.