I couldn’t tell you the last time our roof leaked. When all we could hear were the
winds and the raindrops whipping against the windows, barely drowning out the
constant beat of the buckets catching the leaks. When we’d have to rescue our
soggy boxes in the basement from the rising waters. There would be chaos outside,
the raging rapids would sneak over the river banks, and the streets would be washed
with debris.
Back then, our weather was unpredictable, to say the least. Storms barged in like
unwelcome party guests, tracking mud inside the house, causing a loud ruckus, and
leaving smashed dishes on the floor. Eventually, we got tired of always picking up
after messy houseguests. We learned how to close the door to unwanted visitors.
Scientists came up with an idea; to stop storms before they even formed. The plan
was to remove water from heavy rain clouds before it could fall and drown us out.
And thus, Biotrees were born.
We could already touch the heavens. Our skyline was already littered with buildings
breathing in the clouds. And now our towers could drink from the air itself.
The solution was ingenious. Skyscrapers were topped with bioengineered trees with
strong, bendable trunks, able to sway in the fast winds at the high elevation without
snapping. Branches jut out from the base of the trees to the tops, reaching out to
cover as much territory as possible. From the branches extend lightweight needles,
stuck firmly in place, and able to withstand the weight of the precipitation. The
needles on the smaller branches leaf out like a feather, sifting water from the clouds
as they sweep through the sky. These needles are artificially chilled, causing the
water droplets from the clouds to condense on the leaves, shrinking the cloud size.
The captured water from the clouds then flows down the leaves onto the branches,
where it is collected and sent to be filtered. In syphoning off the extra moisture, the
trees are able to stop the excess rain before it even falls from the sky. The severe
rains stopped, and there were no more floods.
But the world was still changing all around us. The environment was rearranging
itself in unfamiliar ways. The heat got harsher and more intense as each year came
to pass. Shaded areas became absolutely necessary to escape the sun’s intensity.
The geographical structures of our biomes were shifting towards drier climates. But
at least there were no floods.
There are fewer species of birds in the sky; not all of them were able to adapt and
survive. Many animals were pushed out of their homes so we could build more of our
own. We didn’t make space for us to coexist. But at least there were no floods.
More pollution was released into the air, and our skies got hazier. On good days, the
horizon was clear enough, though that was becoming less and less frequent. On bad
days, we could feel the burning chemicals in our throats, a sort of stinging sensation
with a bitter aftertaste. But at least there were less storms, and there were no floods.
It was a particularly hot spring this year, but it was nice out today. I put on a mask
and, as I stepped outside, I could feel the heat of the sun radiating from the street. I
turned away from the city, towards the mountains. They looked a lot less white than
they usually do. I glanced down towards the river, and it too seemed a lot higher than
it used to be.
