Thirst

29 Sep 2019

Today’s prompt: “It’s 2100 and the world is running out of fresh water. Describe a typical day.” [I mean, realistically, global warming will affect our freshwater supply in a few different ways. In some cases that’s going to mean warmer temperatures for lakes and rivers, which will affect fish populations and the animals that depend on them. In others, freshwater systems could dry up or become salinated, possibly due to rising sea levels. We probably want to focus on the latter scenario for this writing exercise, but even then the melting glaciers will mean there’s plenty of seawater, which means that human beings will have to rely on desalination processes to get water. Third world countries, as usual, will be more drastically affected by this, and their people will have less access to desalinated water. And there will be the knock-on effects to ecosystems that rely on freshwater systems, so entire species will likely die out. Not than I’m an expert or anything. But of course it’s more fun to write about it as if it’s kind of a Mad Max scenario, so let’s just pretend that saltwater is in short supply, too.]

The door bursts open. Emily sings out. “Water! Nearly two quarts of it!”

From your vantage point on the couch, you smile. “Good job,” you rasp.

“I had to fight off a pack of wild dogs for it. And then a pack of Ravagers. And then a pack of Neo-Ravagers. I could take you to a pile of dead dogs, studded leather, and studded pleather.” She smacks the butt of her shotgun. “Ol’ Betts here was worth her weight in H₂O today.”

“Wow.”

Emily empties her pouch of water into the old desalinator and sets it to boil. Your lips crack.

The hum of the steam dies away, and is replaced by the trickling sound of cooling water running down the sides of the second basin. You lie still. You’re so sleepy.

You haven’t tried to stand since yesterday. You were so dizzy then that you had to sit back down almost immediately.

Emily holds a cup of warm water to your lips. You close your eyes and take in just a taste of it, letting it melt into your tongue.

“Have some more,” Emily urges.

“No. That’s enough,” you rasp.

“But you’re dying,” she says, her words catching in her throat.

“Precisely,” you say. “Let’s not drag it out.”