Human Island: A sacrifice
Human Island: A sacrifice
#2 | Cli-fi | Dystopian | Strong female lead
Human Island is part of my cli-fi series There Is Hope about life on a planet devastated by climate change and the things that give humans hope.
This is episode #2. You can find an overview of all the episodes here.
Previously 👇
Human Island: A sacrifice
While making a documentary about a sacrificial ritual, a grieving mother comes to terms with the untimely loss of her daughter.
The Japanese wooden shrine glows dark in the morning sun, contrasting with the white-grey of the dry garden. Inside the dome, the air is fresh and moist, adjusted to the optimal temperature and humidity necessary to maintain the wood’s condition.
‘Please wait here,’ the Counselor says.
Nova stops before the shrine, inhaling the unusual fragrance: the wood smells bitter, earthy, warm and spicy. Next to the entrance door, there’s a stone bench. Nova sits down and speaks into her microphone.
‘When the rising Pacific Ocean finally made the collection of islands that used to be Japan uninhabitable, there was a large migration wave of Japanese climate refugees to Europe. Tens of thousands of people loaded their most precious belongings on boats and embarked on a long, dangerous journey to save their lives and, hopefully, their culture. Those who survived settled on the abandoned Iberian Atlantic coast, forming self-sufficient colonies governed by a Colony Counsel and presided over by a freely elected Counselor.
‘At first, the European community living in the secluded North Colonies Alliance thought that the Japanese communities wouldn’t be able to survive the southern heat and lack of natural resources. But the Japanese refugees proved more resourceful than anyone had expected. They recycled materials from abandoned cities and built their signature floating capsule homes. They quietly started a long-term project to revive the marine ecosystem by salvaging the algae that had survived the frequent marine heatwaves. In addition, they grew kelp forests with much work and dedication and created a thriving business by harvesting and processing seaweed.
‘Today, The Cooperatives are the leading buyer 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 has to eat. In the past years, the thriving Japanese seaweed industry started to attract people from the over-populated Northern Colony Alliance who relocated to the south and turned to seaweed farming. The heat and farming work makes for a hard life, but there is food, jobs, and a thriving marine ecosystem that in and of itself is a little miracle.
‘Besides the floating capsule homes and seaweed, the Japanese colonies are also known for the traditional heirlooms they brought from Japan on their sailing boats, such as silk kimonos, musical instruments and historical tools. But the most precious is the ancient wooden shrine they dismantled plank by plank in Kyoto, then shipped to Europe.
‘When The Cooperatives tried confiscating it, the Japanese community pointed out that the wood had become very fragile during the long trip. Not wanting to risk damage to the precious material, The Cooperatives reluctantly agreed to leave it in the care of the Japanese colonies. The shrine is the only wooden construction outside of the NCA and is an important site for pilgrimage in the Iberian Peninsula. Unsurprisingly, it plays a central role in today’s ritual.’
The shrine’s door opens, and the Counselor’s head peeks out. Nova removes her shoes, takes out the urn with her daughter’s ashes from her bag and enters the shrine.
The old plank floor creaks under her bare feet, and the sound makes her stop, afraid she would damage the wood if she took another step.
‘Don’t worry; it won’t break. It’s normal for old wooden floors to creak,’ the Counselor says.
A slender teenage girl with long black hair wearing a white under-kimono stands in the square room. Her pale skin, bathed in the warm light filtering through the washi paper windows, looks almost translucent.
‘This is Shia, the youngest of the chosen ones. She just turned 15,’ the Counselor says.
Nova catches her breath: Ania would’ve turned 15 this same year. She presses the urn tightly against her chest. The two men and two women dressed in white kimonos beside Shia smile at her warmly and nod their heads. One of the men approaches, bows and picks up the urn with Ania’s ashes.
‘When you set yourself free from life and death, you should know your ultimate destination,’ the man says in a familiar voice.
Nova recognizes the old man with the red turban she had interviewed the previous day.