I read so much about the other, better world. I remember learning how to read books and how to conserve a few of the rare plants we had left. And most importantly, we learned how to trust. My teachers always told me that we were living in a fatal and critical world and that the only hope left was us. I had so much feeling for those words, and I wish I could say the same about them now, but it’s hard thinking about what I have been through.

In 2192, when I was born, the temperature had increased by 3 degrees since the year 2000 roughly started. People noticed the temperature increasing; a few even cared, but not enough. The temperature rise continued, floods increased, and people had to live through harsh weather.

When I was 29 years old, I experienced a bitterly cold winter. It was a cold snap; everyone surprised by the icy temperatures, trying to save their few remaining possessions. On the 4th day of the winter storm, I had to go outside to get reserve food from our shed. I heard the howling wind and felt the frigid cold eating up my insides, leaving nothing but numbness.

I think my body wanted to distract myself from the horrible reality, so I saw a flashback of my family. My loving mother, my caring father, my funny aunt, my grumpy uncle, and finally, my awesome brother. Every one of these people made me the person I was, and maybe this was the reason I closed them into my little, fragile heart.

My brother, Zyadik, used to tease me in front of the whole family at our short but warming movie nights, “Let’s not watch anything tragic, or Lylaly might get a heart fallout.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Of course, you had to make this joke, but remember that we have the technology to keep me alive by now?”I would respond.

My brother was everything I had in my lonesome world. We held together through the difficult part of our life, until he left me . Freezing in my own heat, fading in my own memories…

When I finally reached the shed, half numb, I sat down and got myself a bottle of tea. Of course, it was not hot tea; we had run out of electricity months ago; it was cold tea. I think that used to be called “iced tea” in the old days.

As the fluids fight my numbness, I look for something good we could use for eating without having to heat it up. I find frozen lettuce, frozen potatoes, and even a last bit of frozen nuggets, but I choose the potatoes. Even though meat production decreased severely due to the temperature the animals weren’t used to, a few plants survived and became the main nutrient sources for us, humans.

As I walk back inside, I can hear my father and my aunt discussing loudly. I hear word scrapes such as “We can’t stay” or “There’s no place to go” and decide to walk into the other half of the house.

If my mother were here, she would have told them to stop the arguing and care about food, but she passed away in the same research lab as my brother due to an unfortunate heat wave.

I try to heat up the potatoes as best as I can with my body heat, and after I think they are soft enough, I smash them with my hand so they can easily be digested. I load them onto a clean, or close to clean, cloth and get the edges, so the cloth forms a tote bag.

When I arrive in the living room, where my relatives have been arguing, I find only my aunt staring down at the floor. She mumbles something I can’t hear, so I walk closer. When I’m right in front of her and she still doesn’t notice me, I extend my cold, rough hand and pat her shoulder.

Aunt Marie shrieks and jumps up, and shortly after, she takes a seat. “Good timing; I need to talk about something with you,” she says with a rare, stern look. I remember gulping down my salvia, which usually gathers by the sides of my cheeks when I am especially nervous. “Sit down,” she directs.

I sit down slowly, first putting the mashed potatoes on the creamy, brown coffee table. I look into my aunt’s eyes, as gray as ever, bore into mine, as though she were searching for advice. I quickly look at the smooth surface of the table, as I think I wouldn’t be able to face my aunt that way any longer.

“Ahom, I have something to tell you. Your father and I decided to leave; we can’t live in this place any longer; the weather will get worse; and it will only remain a matter of time until we leave this world.” My aunt speaks up in a shy, quiet voice. Even though it used to make me laugh when I was young, now it makes me freeze. Again.

A few months after winter was over, we moved to Canada, to a place called Mymor, I think the past Ontario. Little did we know that after a few years we would have to move again, this time north, but only with two of us left.

I wake up, lying in bed. I don’t know if I was dreaming. I look at the picture of my family beside me, seeing my whole family. This picture has multiple aunts and uncles. My parents are smiling, and my brothers and cousins are making grimaces. The only one missing is me. I was taking it. At that time, I didn’t care. I didn’t yet know the pain and the feelings to come. This is what I am thinking about the past generations who had a chance to stop this unfortunate event. Who could do it without knowing the consequences? I wish they would have cared.