How can I go on? I am famished and parched, a nomad in this crazy and unpredictable world. I am but a child, naïve, perhaps even ignorant of the ways of this world. The once industrialized, capitalist world that I grew up in has turned barbaric as it went back to the old days. I stand atop an abandoned building and blink my eyes against the scenery of people dying, fighting over whatever food was left. The scorching heat is confusing. It creates an illusion of paradise – a cool, flowing river beneath my feet. I am immediately enticed by its beauty. It took all but one step for me to fall in. I can feel my hair whip all over my face. How can the river magically disappear? All too sudden, I fell into the pool of hungry desperate people. My paradise just turned into a nightmare.
I woke up in the middle of the night with beads of cold sweat forming on my forehead. I have had this recurring dream for the past few months; from the day the late night news announced the coming end of the world to be exact. Global warming reached its peak and it started a domino effect of catastrophes. Famine, drought, chaos. I decided I cannot live in indifference any longer. If I was going to survive this cruel fate, I am going to have to fight for it. Eighteen years of mediocrity may not be a strong foundation for a hero, but I knew it was worth a try.
The blazing sun rose earlier than usual. Its red orange rays felt more like noon rather than dawn. The lethal ultraviolet rays forced most of the surviving population to stay indoors. Classes and work were cancelled indefinitely. Great, I thought. I would have more time to strategize. Obviously, supplies were scarce. Heat gradually vaporized the Earth as if it were water left to turn to steam.
I looked at the mirror and saw my sun burnt skin and sweat-filled hair. Global warming has already erased the Antarctic. Slowly, animal species are becoming endangered. So is the human race. Should I be the strong-willed Princess Urduja or the witty Ali Baba, the compassionate African girl from Hole in the Wall or the manipulative goddess Hera? Should I even bother saving others or if I saved them, would I be able to prove Nietzche’s claim that “hell is other people”? My questions only yielded more questions. I do not plan to be a meal of the next generation of cannibals. I have to find a way through this. I am fairly sure that a world with highly developed technology would not give up on developing innovations.
That errant thought caused me to reach an epiphany. Pilandok came into the periphery of my thoughts. I suddenly knew that to be able to survive, I have to be like the clever Pilandok. Brains over brawn, as people put it. Come to think of it, Pilandok is no more than a mousedeer, but he always manages to outwit his competitors, some of them even datus. Pilandok’s tricks always put him in the advantage. If I were Pilandok in this dying world, I would surely be able to deceive and defeat my rivals.
Today the sun continues to ravage the planet. Mother Nature has taken a turn against her children. My nightmare is gradually becoming reality, but equipped with Pilandok’s skills, I swear to change the conclusion to that nightmare. I swear to be other people’s hell, not the other way around.
