Our World in 2050: A Dystopian Future

Aleyna Adamson writes an emotive piece set in the future, a future which has been ravaged by climate change. Dystopian and haunting, it warns of what could be to come if we don’t take drastic action to address global warming now.

I picked my daughter up from school today. She asked me, “Mummy, the teacher told us about polar bears today. She showed us pictures of them on big bits of ice. We all thought she was being very silly. Doesn’t she know it’s too hot for ice?” I explained that, when I was her age, the polar bears lived on big ice sheets in the Arctic. I can still remember watching them struggle as the ice began to melt.

Scientists warned us in the 2020s that climate change was worsening. No one listened. Fuel companies promised us they would ‘change’. They didn’t change. The billionaires hoarded their money. They didn’t help us. Climate protests got larger and became more frequent. Still, no one listened. When I was in university, they told us one degree hotter would be all it took before there was no turning back. They were right.

On the drive home from school, we stop at the supermarket. We had been warned to expect another hurricane. Britain never used to get hurricanes. We were always known for our rainy weather, but never this much. This rain lasted for weeks and caused unimaginable floods. Many of the houses on our street are still recovering.

Most of the store shelves are empty, as usual. The rise in sea levels flooded most of our farmland, and it’s nearly impossible to transport food overseas now since mainland countries are experiencing famines.

We just need to grab the essentials. I managed to find a bag of flour, some potatoes and some beans. Even flour supplies are dwindling. The temperature keeps rising, and it’s getting too hot to grow wheat.

There are barely any fruits and vegetables. The bees died off around a decade ago. Fortunately, we have our vegetable garden in the greenhouse at home, where we can grow a few crops that don’t rely on bee pollination. These will have to do for now. I can only pray it’s enough to survive the hurricane. On the drive home, I tell my daughter what outside used to look like. How everything was so bright and green. I wish she could have seen it. All I have are pictures now.

The city’s heavy smog from decades of burning fossil fuels can be seen from miles away. I remember people hated wearing masks during the Covid-19 pandemic, but now they are essential in the city. You don’t want to breathe in the smog. It will damage your lungs, and there’s not enough medicine to help anymore if you get sick.

The roads pass through dry barren land, scorched by the heat. Every summer, we suffer from terrible wildfires. Farmland, typical of the British countryside, no longer exists. It became far too dangerous and expensive to raise livestock with the constant fires wiping out entire herds. When we arrive home, a drop of rain hits my forehead. I look up to the sky. Its hue is more brown than blue nowadays, darkened by years of air pollution.

I haul the sand bags out of the garage. The army promised to bring us more but never did. Only the very rich can afford to buy them new, so we just have to make do. I shove the bags under every door and window, preparing for the hurricane to come.

Every time, I feel less and less confident that they will work. The rain keeps getting heavier and the floods keep getting worse. We can’t keep this up forever… It’s only a matter of time.

By Aleyna Adamson

Collage by Alice Nott Page Design by Chiara Crompton