Human Island
Cli-fi • Dystopian • Dark twist
Hello, fellow voyagers 🖖! This is my climate fiction entry for the Future of Nature writing prompt for Earth Day 2025.
The Future of Nature is an Earth Day community writing project for fiction writers to explore the human-nature relationship in a short story or poem. It was organized by
and , and supported with brilliant advice from scientists and . The story you’re about to read is from this project. You can find all the stories as a special Disruption edition, with thanks to publisher .
The jade-green kelp forest floated in the crystal-clear water. Lying on her back, Nova allowed the swift currents to guide her through the corridors lined with algae stems, stretching their slender arms toward the sunlight. When she closed her eyes, the chlorophyll green light seeped through her eyelids, coloring her thoughts. She floated like that for a while, wrapped in the ocean’s waves, enjoying the silence. A vibration woke her from her reverie, and she opened her eyes to read the bright orange message displayed on her diving helmet visor: You are running out of oxygen. But she wasn’t ready to leave the underwater paradise and return to the dust. Instead, she flipped onto her belly and started to swim. Fast. Faster. Faster!
The kelp stems trembled in the currents stirred by her vigorous strokes, and myriad tiny creatures scattered in all directions. The kelp forest was thriving with life, filling her broken heart with a joy she hadn’t felt in a long time. Soon, the warning on her visor blinked in angry red letters: You’re out of oxygen. Greedily, she inhaled the last bits of oxygen and swam to the ocean’s surface, rising with the kelp forest. She felt dizzy when she burst out of the water, lifting her visor to breathe the hot, stale, dusty air.
The colonies of the Japanese seaweed farmers strung along the shore of the rising Atlantic Ocean resembled a string of beads. Nova swams among floating homes and children cooling off from the midday sun beneath suspended seaweed factories. When she stepped out of the water, the sand burned under her feet, so she ran to her flying pod parked next to the ancient Data Center, the main energy source of the colony and the spying eye of The Cooperatives. She took off her diving suit, stuffed it in the cargo compartment, jumped on the pilot seat and flipped on the engine switch. On the dashboard was a picture of a young girl with long chestnut brown hair. Nova checked the air quality index on her smartwatch: the daily CO2 level was 731 ppm.
The cabin cooled off as the pod lifted into the white sky. Beyond the colonies, bare dusty land stretched toward the ghost cities of the long-gone industrial world, sprawling inland like crippled giants caked in dust and baking in the scorching heat. Outside the cities lay the khaki Iberian desert.
Deep among the sand dunes, a long cloud of dust moved like a giant worm. Nova flew in its direction. As she approached, the dust cloud revealed itself to be a long trail of people walking. Nova landed the pod in the sand, turned off the engine and watched the weathered silhouettes wrapped in the ubiquitous green fabrics made of seaweed, the plant that fed and clothed the world. Young and old marched by, some carrying luggage on their back, pulling carts, pushing electric strollers, bicycles or oddly shaped vehicles made from scrap parts.
In the backseat of the narrow cabin, Nova’s travel bag lay open, revealing a tangle of cables and boxes—her filming gear. With one hand, she pulled out a gearbox. With the other, she took out a hand control pad from her pocket and switched on her virtual dashboard. Filming bots crawled out of the gearbox and onto her arm: two spiders, four cockroaches, two baby turtles and five mini-drones—her birds—set the whole cabin in motion.
‘Guys, you need to get out of here,’ said Nova, pulling up the mask of her nanotech Skin suit.
As her menagerie of bots and drones climbed out the window, she activated a map of the area on her virtual pad and dispatched them in different directions. Soon, streams of the long caravan, captured from different angles and perspectives, started to upload to the virtual dashboard. Nova wrapped a green scarf around her head, picked up her filming gear, and jumped out of the pod just as a wrinkled man wearing a red turban walked by.
‘Good afternoon. My name is Nova Novikov. I’m filming a documentary about the human sacrifice. Can I ask you some questions?’
‘Do you have some water?’ said the man.
‘Sure,’ said Nova. She unbuckled her water bottle and handed it to him.
‘Thank you,’ said the man, taking a long sip. ‘How long until the Japanese colony?’
‘At this pace, about half a day. How long have you been on the Dust Road?’ said Nova.
The man took another sip of water and returned the bottle.
‘Ten days, but my food and water rations ran out two days ago. I don’t mind the hunger, but walking without water in this heat is challenging.’
Nova dug through her handbag and pulled out a bag of seaweed chips.
‘It’s all I have left.’
‘Wasting food and water on an old man,’ he said, his eyes filling up with tears.
‘It’s my duty and pleasure to share,’ said Nova, patting his shoulder.
‘More meat on these old bones for the sacrifice,’ said the man, chewing on a cracker.
‘Are you one of the chosen ones?’ said Nova.
‘I am, indeed,’ said the man.
‘What made you volunteer?’ said Nova.
‘There’s still much to live and die for in this world,’ said the man.
Then smiled and walked away, soon disappearing into the crowd.
<>
At sunset, the pale white sky blushed like the powdered cheeks of a Geisha. Nova’s pod hovered above the outskirts of the colony, where the pilgrims were preparing to rest for the night. Rivers of dusty sweat ran down her face, and she wiped them off with a green cloth. She landed her pod next to the old Data Center ready to tuck in for night by the shore. The salty moisture of the ocean breeze felt like a balm to her lungs. It would cool off soon and she could go for a swim. In the meantime, she enjoyed the happy screams of children playing in the floating colony. The soothing sound of the waves breaking on the shore was a sign that this side of the ocean was still alive and a safe distance from the dead marine zones, which were growing like cancer and bubbling hydrogen sulfide poison into the windless air. One day, these waves would also be still. One day, the whole world would be still. It was an equally scaring and luring thought.
A gentle knock startled Nova from her reverie. The friendly face of the colony’s counselor, Aia Santos, peeked at her through the open window.
‘Good evening, Nova-san. Is everything alright?’ said the counselor.
‘Good evening, counselor. Everything’s good. It’s been a long, hot day, and I need a swim and a good night’s sleep,’ said Nova, flipping on the lights of her pod.
‘And perhaps some dinner?’ said the counselor, smiling with her startling aquamarine almond-shaped eyes.
Nova’s stomach growled in agreement, much to her embarrassment, and both women laughed.
‘I’m sorry for taking the colony’s rations,’ said Nova, accepting the cloth bag offered by the counselor.
‘No need to apologize. It’s the least we can do. Thank you for making this documentary,’ said the Counselor. ‘Have a good night.’
‘Good night, counselor,’ said Nova.
The pale light of an almost full moon glittered over the dark waters, reminding Nova of the silver sands of the Dust Road. The smuggling caravan in which she traveled on her way to the Iberian Peninsula would rest during the day and travel at night. Sometimes, during those restless days, Nova dreamt of her daughter. In her dreams, Ania was excited to meet the Japanese seaweed farmers, swim through the kelp forests, meet the pilgrims, visit the wooden shrine, and see the sharks. At the end of those dreams, Nova would wake up alone in her tent, drenched in sweat, her head swimming in a haze of heat and weariness. She touched the picture of the young girl on her board, then opened a small compartment that held a blue urn. Was there really anything left to live and die for in this world? She didn’t know, but there she was. A grieving woman and the ghost of her daughter at the shores of a slowly dying ocean, still searching for hope.
<>
The next day, Nova climbed out of her pod at sunrise, ready for the last day of shooting. A Cooperative surveillance drone buzzed overhead, but she ignored it. As a citizen of the Northern Colonies Alliance, she was used to being watched day and night. However, outside of the NCA, surveillance drones were rare, and finding one in the remote Japanese colonies took her by surprise. Her filming gear was ready. She tapped her virtual map, sending two of her drones to the camping site of the pilgrims, two to the wooden shrine, and one to the ocean. She deployed her turtle bots into the water to survey the kelp forests. With the rest of the drones squirming at her feet, she walked to the first filming site of the day: the wooden shrine.
The protective glass dome enclosing the shrine and the Japanese dry garden, with its rivers of raked gravel and pathways of stepping stones, stood tall in the landscape. The morning breeze smelled of algae, and Nova enjoyed its freshness. Out of reflex, she checked the air quality index on her smartwatch: the daily CO2 level was 729 ppm. Nova smiled, as she looked at the hexagon inked on her wrist.
‘Are you a believer?’
Startled, she turned around to see a teenage boy with shoulder-length black hair. The bright colors of his silk kimono reminded her of a documentary about butterflies she had watched as a child. Like every kid in the Northern Colonies Alliance, Nova had grown up experiencing Old Earth in Extended Reality educational programs, deeply feeling the loss of a world she could see but not touch, smell or taste.
‘I used to be. Now I’m not so sure anymore,’ said Nova.
The teenage boy opened his palms to reveal one of Nova’s drones.
‘I think this belongs to you,’ said the teenager.
One of the drone’s wings was torn off, and the other was flapping mechanically, trying to fly.
‘It must’ve collided with a surveillance drone,’ said Nova.
The teenager nodded. Nova took the wounded drone bird in her palm and switched it off. Damn those surveillance drones! She brushed away some grains of sand from its wings and checked the electric signals on her control pad: it was completely dead. She had only four birds left and couldn’t afford to lose another one. Spare parts were hard to come by, even on the black market of the Dust Road.
‘Thank you,’ said Nova.
The teenager looked at her with the saddest eyes she had ever seen.
‘I’m not sure why you came here, but today won’t restore your faith. Today we pay for the sins of our ancestors,’ said the teenager, walking away.
Seeing young people so disillusioned with life and humanity was painful. Living with the consequence of the biophobic lifestyle practiced by humans for the past thousand years was challenging. She slipped the damaged drone into her pocket, switched on her control pad, and watched the live stream from her bots. The pilgrim camp was waking up, and the turtle bots swam through kelp forests out in the ocean. There was unusual activity around the bots, as if the entire ecosystem was on alert. Then, a large shadow appeared at the end of the kelp corridor, slowly approaching her turtles. It was a shark! Hypnotized, Nova watched the splendid animal glide through the algae.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ said the counselor, walking out of the glass dome.
They both studied the dull grey shark, which moved lazily with its muscular, upturned tail. There was something ferocious about it: the impenetrable skin roughened by tooth-like scales, a pointed snout extending forward over a crescentic mouth filled with sharp triangular teeth, and lidless dark blue eyes that stared at the camera.
‘Awe-inducing and terrifying,’ said Nova.
At the back of the corridor, the turtle drone caught a glimpse of the fusiform shapes of four more sharks.
‘There’s five of them!’ said Nova.
‘Two females and three males,’ said the counselor.
‘Where did they come from?’ said Nova, filming.
‘We don’t know. Several colony divers were inspecting the kelp forests five years ago when the unthinkable happened. That first year, it was a single male shark. But the following year, it returned with two females and two younger males,’ said the counselor. ‘They never stay longer than a solar term. They don’t trust humans, and there is also not much for them to eat here.’
‘Is this why you began the sacrifices?’ said Nova.
The counselor pulled a white handkerchief from her kimono sleeve and dabbed her forehead.
‘Partly,’ said the Counselor. ‘The colony underwent mass hysteria for two weeks when the first shark arrived. People would free-dive into the ocean to witness the miracle, to offer their bodies as food to the sea god. The word spread, and the following year, when the five sharks arrived, hundreds of people flooded into our colony. They went into the water and drove the sharks into a feeding frenzy daily for a week. Finally, we had to stop them.’
Nova pictured the kelp forests with bloodied waters and severed human limbs floating amongst algae leaves.
‘The Council has decided to hold an annual ritual sacrifice with five individuals from the colony families. Those chosen must volunteer, and each family is allowed one volunteer every seven years. Today marks the third year of honoring this self-sacrifice inspired by the arrival of the sharks,’ said the Counselor.
She then bowed and gestured toward the entrance of the glass dome.
‘It’s time.’
<>
The Japanese wooden shrine glowed dark in the morning sun, contrasting with the dull grey-white of the dry garden. Inside the dome, the air was fresh and moist, perfectly adjusted to maintain the wood’s condition.
‘Please wait here,’ said the Counselor.
Nova paused before the shrine, inhaling the unusual fragrance: the wood smelled bitter, earthy, warm and spicy. Next to the entrance, a stone bench invited her to sit down. Inspired by the moment, she spoke softly into the microphone.
‘When the rising Pacific Ocean made the collection of islands that once constituted Japan uninhabitable, a large wave of Japanese climate refugees migrated to Europe. Tens of thousands of people loaded their most prized possessions onto boats and embarked on a long, dangerous journey to save both their lives and their culture. Those who survived settled along the abandoned Iberian Atlantic coast, forming self-sufficient colonies governed by a Colony Council, with a freely elected counselor overseeing them.
‘At first, the European communities in the secluded Northern Colonies Alliance doubted that the Japanese refugees could survive the southern heat and lack of natural resources. However, the Japanese proved to be more resourceful than anyone had anticipated. They recycled materials from abandoned cities to built their signature floating capsule homes. They quietly started a long-term project to revive the marine ecosystem by salvaging algae that survived the frequent marine heatwaves. Additionally, they cultivated kelp forests through hard work and dedication, creating a thriving industry by harvesting and processing seaweed.
‘Today, The Cooperatives are the leading buyers of seaweed, followed by the underground smuggling lords of the Dust Road, who use it as the primary food source for their undernourished workers. Everyone needs to eat. In recent years, the prosperous Japanese seaweed industry has attracted people from the overpopulated Northern Colony Alliance, who relocated south to engage in seaweed farming. Though the heat and farming work make for a hard life, there is food, jobs, and a thriving marine ecosystem, a little miracle in itself.
‘Besides the floating capsule homes and seaweed, the Japanese colonies are also renowned for the traditional heirlooms they brought from Japan, such as silk kimonos, musical instruments and historical tools. However, the most precious item is the ancient wooden shrine they meticulously dismantled in Kyoto, piece by piece, and then shipped to Europe.
‘When The Cooperatives attempted to confiscating it, the Japanese community argued that the wood had become very fragile during the long journey. Not wanting to risk damaging the precious material, The Cooperatives reluctantly agreed to leave it in the care of the Japanese colonies. The shrine is the only wooden structure outside the Northern Colonies Alliance and serves as an important pilgrimage site on the Iberian Peninsula. Unsurprisingly, it plays a central role in today’s ritual.’
The shrine’s door opened, and the counselor’s head peeked out. Nova removed her shoes, took the urn with her daughter’s ashes from her bag, and entered the shrine. The old plank floor creaked under her bare feet, making her stop in fear of damaging the wood with her next step.
‘Don’t worry, it won’t break. It’s normal for old wooden floors to creak,’ said the counselor.
Inside the square room stood a slender teenage girl with long black hair, dressed in a white under-kimono. Her pale skin, illuminated by the warm light filtering through the washi paper windows, appeared almost translucent.
‘This is Shia, the youngest of the chosen ones. She just turned 15,’ said the counselor.
Nova caught her breath. Ania would have turned 15 that same year. She pressed the urn tightly against her chest. The two men and two women, all dressed in white kimonos beside Shia, smiled warmly and nodded at her. One of the men approached, bowed, and picked up the urn containing Ania’s ashes. Nova recognized the old man with the red turban she had interviewed the previous day.
‘It was her deepest desire to one day see the wooden shrine,’ said Nova, tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘When you free yourself from life and death, you should know your ultimate destination,’ said the old man, bowing and walking away.
Nova wiped away her tears, then brushed her wet fingers against the wood—proof that trees once existed.
Moving slowly, savoring the feel of the wood beneath her feet, Nova began filming the sparsely furnished shrine. She captured a close-up of the counselor’s wrinkled hands wrapping a white kimono around Shia’s body, tightening it with an obi, the kimono belt, around her waist, before finally resting her camera on the stoic face of the girl who had chosen a shark’s belly as her ultimate destination.
<>
After the dressing ritual, Nova joined the dusty crowd waiting for the chosen ones outside the dome’s gates. The pilgrims had finally arrived. She filmed the rickety group and turned just in time to see the wooden door of the shrine open. The counselor, carrying a golden tray, exited, followed by four adults.
‘The chosen ones,’ the crowd whispered.
When Shia stepped into the light, her black hair flowing down to her waist, the pilgrims caught a collective breath. Shia paused in the doorway, her gaze floating above the crowd. Nova zoomed in on her feet, wrapped in white split-toe socks and beautiful wooden sandals, then slowly moved up to admire the long sleeves of her furisode kimono, befitting a young girl. Finally, she focused on Shia’s face.
‘She is so young,’ someone murmured the crowd.
Something stirred in the girl’s eyes. What was she looking at? Nova followed Shia’s gaze and saw a teenage boy outside the glass dome, starring at her. He was dressed in a colorful kimono, but his eyes held a deep sadness. Nova swung the camera back to Shia, who stood frozen, eyes locked on the boy. The counselor touched her arm, breaking the spell, and they all stepped out of the dome. The crowd parted to make way for the procession. A Japanese taiko drum ensemble joined the chosen ones, and a gust of wind blew the delicate silk of their kimonos, causing them to flutter like tired butterfly wings wrapped in dust. Clouds gathered in the sky as the counselor lead the chosen ones to a platform where they sat in a circle. The ocean waved lazily behind them, just a few hundred meters away.
A wide semicircle formed around the platform, listening to the trance-inducing cadence of the taiko drums. The counselor pulled her Skin’s mask over her face, lit incense, and placed it in holders in front of each chosen one. Nova approached the platform for a close-up of the five silhouettes enveloped in a thick smoke, their loose limbs moving slowly to the quick tempo of the drums, surrounded by an endless mass of dancing human bodies. One of the chosen ones, the old man, slipped a mask over his face. After lightening the last incense stick, the counselor bowed and approached Nova.
‘Don’t get too close. It’s best not to inhale the incense smoke. It has a strong sedative effect,’ said the Counselor.
‘What about the one with the mask?’ said Nova.
‘He chose not to be sedated,’ said the Counselor.
Soon, the cloud of smoke began to dissipate, revealing the numb faces of the chosen ones. The tempo of the drums softened, like the whisper of a thousand oceans.
‘The music is divine,’ said Nova.
‘The song’s name is Fertility of the Ocean,’ said the Counselor.
The gentle drumming now resembled the muted sound of rain on a metal rooftop. A soft hum rose from the crowd, and the limbs of the chosen ones grew heavier, their heads bobbing awkwardly. The rhythm of drums and the ocean waves enclosed everything like a lullaby putting the day to sleep. The taiko drums then quickened again, and the musicians twirled their arms in the air, striking the drums in perfect synchronization, breaking the rhythm with shouts. The music swelled to a terrifying crescendo before abruptly stopping. A deep silence fell, broken only by the languid waves of the ocean as the Counselor stood up.
‘Over the past thousand years, we have achieved brilliance without conscience. After a millennium of viewing nature as devoid of spirit and purpose, treating it a resource to be exploited for human progress, we are finally ready to move on. We enter a new age where the belief that human thought dictates all things will come to an end, along with the blind acts of biocide and geocide committed in the name of advancement. We hold the power to change our reality by imagining a better future and acting on it now, using our actions as a barrier against despair, providing a hopeful source of ideals that can inspire change. An Old Earth religion spoke of a man and a woman cast out of paradise after tasting from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. Unlike that old faith, I believe paradise isn’t a distant place in the afterlife. It is here on Earth. What cast humans out of paradise was not the knowledge of their natural nakedness, but the evil knowledge and greed to exploit and destroy the very nature that gave them life. This paradise was meant for all living things on Earth. To revive this paradise, no sacrifice is too great. Restoring life after it was taken with such savagery is our highest honor and duty. One day, the world will be re-spoken, and a new being will emerge,’ said the Counselor.
As she spoke, the clouds parted, and a pinkish-golden light fell on the weathered facade of the shrine.
‘You are the chosen ones,’ said the Counselor, kneeling in the sand. ‘We bow to you and your sacrifice.’
Warm tears flowed down Nova’s cheeks as she filmed the crowd of pilgrims kneeling and bowing in respectful silence. She approached the platform, taking close-ups of the chosen ones, numbed after inhaling the sedative—all except for the old man and, to Nova’s astonishment, Shia. The young girl found the strenght to lift her arms, grabbing at the heads and shoulders of those nearby, seeking support.
‘Lucius,’ said Shia.
Despite the silence, the pleading whisper was so weak that Nova wondered for a moment whether she actually heard it or if her mind was playing tricks.
‘Is there anyone called Lucius here?’ said Nova.
The counselor’s head snapped up.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ said the counselor.
‘Shia just called a name: Lucius,’ said Nova.
The crowd released a collective gasp, and Nova felt the weight of the countless eyes fixed on her.
‘It’s Lucius,’ the crowd whispered.
A silhouette started moving through the kneeling crowd.
‘Stop him!’ said the counselor.
Two men stood up, trying to stop Lucius, but he fend them off and reached the platform. In one swift motion, she grabbed Shia into his arms.
‘We wanted to get married in the old, wrecked ship on a full moon night. Do you remember?’ said Lucius.
Shia’s limp hand tried to touch Lucius’s face but fell lifeless beside her body. Lucius searched his pocket and took out a golden bracelet.
‘I wanted to give you this. It belonged to my grandmother,’ said Lucius, fastening the bracelet onto Shia’s left wrist. ‘Now we’re family. I knew you would claim me, my wife.’
A woman stepped forward from the crowd.
‘My son, no! Our family made a sacrifice last year!’
‘You cannot go against the will of a chosen one,’ said Lucius.
The woman fell to her knees at the counselor’s feet, wailing.
‘Is it true? Did you mean to claim Lucius?’ said the counselor.
For a moment, Shia seemed to be unconscious, but then her lips moved. The counselor leaned closer to listen, then nodded.
‘The girl’s answer is no,’ said the Counselor.
‘Then I volunteer to take her place,’ said Lucius.
The woman kneeling at the counselor’s feet let out a loud cry.
‘This is not a suicide ritual. You are disrespecting the chosen ones and their families,’ said the counselor.
‘How can you be so heartless? She is the only family you have!’ said Lucius.
‘I’ll take her place,’ said Nova.
When she met the counselor’s eyes, Nova saw the same astonishment reflected back at her, mirroring her own shock as the meaning of her words sunk in.
‘Please hear me out. I crossed the Dust Road to come to this gathering. Not to witness the Human Island sacrifice or shoot a documentary, but to bring the ashes of my late daughter to her final resting place, the great wooden shrine she wished to see. After completing my mission, I thought that, with my daughter gone, I had nothing left to live for. But the selfless example of this young woman, who has a whole life ahead of her, humbled me and showed me that there is meaning in life, just as there is in death. So, I wish to take her place. Please help a grieving mother give meaning to her child’s death by allowing this girl to live,’ said Nova.
There was a heavy silence. Finally, the old man removed his mask.
‘I claim this woman,’ he said.
A wave of peace washed over Nova for the first time in seven years. With tears streaming down her face, the counselor took Nova’s hands.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
<>
The bodies of the chosen ones lay naked on a round metal platform, bathed in the soft glow of the sunset. All eyes were peacefully closed, except for Nova’s, who was staring at the sky. She couldn’t feel her body, she couldn’t feel her face, but her head refused to shut down. Memories of her daughter flooded her head. Ania as a newborn. Ania taking her first steps. Ania calling her mother for the first time. Ania going on a school trip. Ania coughing up blood. Her breath caught in her throat, and the old man squeezed her hand.
‘Just here and now, when you are struggling: what is your true nature? Can you show me in this moment?’ said the old man.
She saw her daughter’s smiling face, and her body relaxed, ready to let go one last time. Goodbye, my love. See you on the other side. Nova felt the lightness of a young butterfly that had finally broken free from its cocoon, ready to fly through the endless corridors of the kelp forests toward her ultimate destination.
A few men lifted the platform and started walking toward the ocean. The soft humming of a prayer song rose from the crowd as heavy eyelids fell over Nova’s smiling eyes. Finally, the men entered the water, holding the round platform above their heads. Waves crashed at their ankles, knees and waists, but the men didn’t stop until they were chin-deep in the ocean. Then they dove in, leaving the platform to float as they swam away. Behind them, the platform submerged in the water. A loud cry rose above the crashing waves.
<>
Lucius and Shia piloted Nova’s pod over the deserted, powdery landscape. From above, they watched as the Japanese colony gathered to witness the end of the ritual sacrifice, with the Atlantic Ocean sprawling beneath them like a blue blanket. The platform floated on the ocean’s gentle waves, carrying the bodies of the chosen ones like a human island. In the backseat, Shia glanced at Ania’s picture on the board before reaching into Nova’s luggage and pulling out a cloth bag. Opening it, she revealed a handful of seeds, a photo of a young blonde woman, and a handwritten note, which she read aloud.
‘The Seed Keepers.’
The neon-orange sun dipped towards the horizon, where the blood-stained ocean met the sunset’s blush against a white sky.
THE END
Author notes
I wanted to write something new for this Earth Day, but time didn’t cooperate. Instead, I’m revisiting the very first story from my climate fiction mosaic novel.
Originally shared two years ago as a two-part mini-series—back when only 150 people were on this list—I’ve now edited and republished it as a single, complete piece. It’s the story that started it all and I’m proud to share it again with fresh eyes. I realized this is also the most Earth Day story I could share, one that grapples with ecological collapse, climate grief and how far a community will go to preserve what little life remains.
Thank you to everyone who wrote something new for the prompt. You’re helping build the future of the human–nature relationship, one story at a time.
🌱 If this story resonated with you…
The full novel There Is Hope is being serialized now on Story Voyager and the final season drops mid-May. After June, it will go behind the paywall and become available only to paid subscribers.
If you want to support independent climate fiction and help me keep building this world, consider upgrading to a paid subscription. Your support makes all of this possible and means the world to me.
This is brilliant Claudia, I held my breath all the way through. I loved the kelp forests and although I was initially horrified at the idea of sacrifices with sharks, I was very moved by the philosophy of your imagined future colonies. You are a super talented writer and very inspiring for us all. I am going to be thinking long and deep about this one.
This is a beautiful and poignant story Claudia. What a powerful way to celebrate Earth day 🌱