Just after noon, on a hot August day, Hope sits on her favourite bench. There aren’t many green spaces in London anymore, but Regent’s Park is close enough for her to potter to a couple of times a week. Her repose is suddenly disturbed by a group of journalists following the British Prime Minister and American President as they take a turn about the park.
The sun hangs high, a burning disc in the cerulean sky. Suddenly, across the park, utter and complete silence falls. Then, one by one the insects begin to sing, each species adding a different buzzing tone to the entomological symphony; music is the only method they know that humans might understand.
The Prime Minister emits a bellow of laughter, exclaiming, “Isn’t it wonderful!”
The insects scroll through three songs, repeating them again and again. Hope gets the message immediately, and pushes herself up from the bench with a grunt of pain. She shuffles across to the gathered group. “Young man,” she shouts at the Prime Minister, poking him sharply in the ribs. “Are you not listening to the message in their choice of songs?” she asks. “We are stealing their homes. You need to wash out your ears!”
He looks at her blankly, but listens as instructed. Then he frowns and Hope notices a tear in the corner of his eye, which he quickly wipes away. Indeed, the insects are scrolling their way through three songs, trying to impart a message to the humans. The songs they hum and buzz are ‘Help’, ‘Killing Me Softly’ and ‘Earth Song’. The message, simply put; “Help, killing Earth.” Finally, he understands, and nods sadly, acknowledging to the insects that he has to make better choices to help the environment, and he needs to make them now.
The insects buzz a thankful acknowledgment that sounds a lot like applause, before resuming their normal humming, going about their business.
The Prime Minister gently embraces Hope before turning to the President. “I believe that the environment needs to be our top priority,” he said. “We have some difficult choices to make.”