This is a bit of an apocalyptic flash. I was thinking of the drought in California as I wrote this, although I fear the drought in California is only the beginning of a new climate. This post is a response to the April 1 Flash Fiction Challenge on Carrot Ranch:
In 99 words (no more, no less) write about the day the earth turned brown. How did it happen? What else might be going on? It can be dramatic or even humorous. It can be the greater globe or a localized ccurance. It can be an aftermath or a revival. Follow where the prompt leads you.
I saturate my lawn for the last time, mourning the impending brown. The stifling hundred-degree days without a swimming pool. The baked brown lawns and flowerless gardens. The absence of squeals of children running through sprinklers. Already the sun beats down, a shadow of the summer’s heat.
I water only until I see water running down the sidewalk, then put the hose on the top shelf of the shed, the shelf I need a stepladder to reach. The dry season begins tomorrow.
I pour myself a glass of water, drink a sip, and pour the rest down the drain.
Although I don’t live in California, I am concerned about the order to reduce water usage that was issued yesterday. Water is a precious resource–especially in the desert–and is taken for granted. As humans, we thirst for the richness to waste without thought. And when we find it, we do not think—about those who go without, those who would savor what we so carelessly discard. We have taken much for granted, and acknowledging limited resources will be a major change for many.