Back To Raga Volunteer Days

So here’s a story I wrote last year as my five-articles-a-week quota when I was a volunteer last year in Raga 2014. I particularly liked this article and today has been quite a dull day full of sleep and reading – I’ve slept half the morning and then again in the afternoon.

The Miscall

She woke up from her afternoon nap, taken each day at the very same time. Like a rehearsed move, she stretched out her hand and picked her phone from the table and checked if anyone had called. It was routine. But somehow, this day was different. There was one miscall from an unknown number on her phone.

Never the one to tolerate anonymous calls, she decided to ignore it but just at the last second, impulsively decided to call the number. It rang for sixteen seconds before someone picked up. After the cursory greetings were done, she realized who it was. Or wasn’t.

It was apparently a call from her, sixty years into the future. Not finding it weird at all, she conversed with herself until the topic turned far more serious than she had anticipated.

There were not more than fifty thousand people left alive. And they only existed thanks to the oxygen being provided by the meagre number of trees left on the earth. The sky was no longer blue; it was coal black, even during the day. Even the sun couldn’t shine through. There was no natural water source anymore. Humans had adapted to life without water, but that made them shrivelled, lifeless beings, they were mere shells of their former selves.

Humans had infuriated Mother Nature and she had struck back with a vengeance. Wave after wave of water, including everything that had been dumped in the water crashed on the shores of every single coastal town and city in the world. Millions of people died, those who didn’t had been reduced to living on the land that had somehow escaped the wrath of the ocean.

There was nothing to live for, and yet nothing to kill them. Mother Nature had hit them where it mattered, within moments everything that man had gone about destroying nature for was gone. Evolution went backwards, man perished in the flames of hell that managed to lick the earth clean of all life. The people alive were the only remaining beings of the entire species.

She had found a cell phone, lying in the debris strewn all around. Trying it, it still worked. Miraculously, she could call. She called the only person she knew she could trust to do something. She called herself.

Tonight has been particularly difficult to write about because I just saw Robb Stark and Queen Talisa and Catelyn Stark being brutally murdered by Walder Frey to the tunes of Rains of Castamere. I knew they died but that still doesn’t take away from the cruel way in which they were murdered. Who knew I’d love Robb more than Jon Snow in the first season. One does not choose who one loves.

RIP, Robb. I'm coming for you, GRRM.

RIP, Robb. I’m coming for you, GRRM.

I’ll be sobbing if anyone needs me.

Until tomorrow,

Nia Carnelio.

So many fictional deaths, my poor heart can’t take it all. 


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