In Cli-Fi we turn to fiction to examine our world. The power of science fiction lies in imagining a future world to challenge the contemporary. Centering on climate creativity, we find that the most abstract of texts often best explore our past, present and future.
Serifos is derived from the Greek word meaning barren or fruitless. Whoever gave the island its name must not have seen the land in the dead of March, when poppies grow up between the stones and cows graze in meadows that will disappear by May.
Last spring, there were no Lenten rains. Infertility persisted with only dry bushes of fennel and ironwort to brew into tea as winter stretched on. The reservoir over the mountain ran low and the villagers kept their faucets open for the unpredictable handful of hours there would be running water.
The hum of incandescent flood lights held my pulse soberly. I pulled my eyes back from the window, returning to the dull baby blue hospital ward. The social worker waited for my full attention.
Consciously, I rotated my torso back to face her, put down the rubber band I’d been fiddling with and tried once again.
Levi Vixie writes a short story exploring parent dynamics in the age of climate.
‘Jim, we’re going to have to make it quick today. I’m running low on time today’. I called out as I swung my bag into the trunk and sat down into the passenger seat.
‘Well have you ever run out of it?’
‘Time. Have you ever run out of time?,’ He glanced over briefly.
‘No but that’s not what I- ‘. I was interrupted by a burst of laughter. I know few people who laugh as openly at their own jokes as Jim. You’d always know if Jim were happy with a joke he’d made; the whole room would.
It has been raining for far longer than eighteen years, but that is as long as I have known it.
I was born in the midst of a downpour, fat drops breaking through the feeble shelter constructed to protect my entrance to the world and running down my mother’s legs like sweat. There were no doctors present to ease my passage; such a word has become archaic amongst those I know anyways, occupying the same space in our minds as terms like Bigfoot, and stories of the sun.
I didn’t see the truck until I was already halfway down the street. Nestled between just behind the neighbours house was a refrigerated truck filled with chunks of meat hanging from the ceiling. I saw the outline of a small body with a few scraps of greyish skin still attached.
My stomach churned. I turned away.
Dismounting, I walked my bicycle down our driveway. I didn’t want to look at the neighbours again, but I heard the woman call out ‘There were prints in the driveway this morning so I figured it was time to get the shipment.’
‘No one really knows what happened to Alberta.’
‘Has it always been that bad?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He hung his head.
A few seconds later, he mumbled; ‘Fucking DC. I nearly lost it all for that.’’
“God, the smell of it is even worse than the–”
The pedestrian’s remark is truncated by James’s front door slamming behind him. He has an exam that afternoon, but her observation tugs at his attention. He had always loved the smell of burning eucalyptus, it reminded him of campfires and the old open fireplace in his home near Singleton.
The Promethean Fix Alexi Barnstone – Cli-Fi Greta stared down at the headline on her phone screen. It read: Economic modelling conclusive in debunking human-nature…
From politics to science, culture to philosophy, The Climatized is a publication solely dedicated to providing readers with both the exciting and daunting potential realities that could manifest due to the greatest challenge to contemporary society.