Somewhere in the World
Somewhere the air is sweet, Isabelle’s rainwater stock is flourishing. The jugs she uses to collect it are made of recycled plastics, and there are tubes in two of them that lead the water to her garden. It’s a beautiful thing to see in action.
She decided to start collecting rainwater five years ago, after a conversation with a friend she doesn’t talk with anymore.
“With all the water we’re getting for free, it’s wild that you don’t just collect some yourself.”
At the time, all she said in response was, “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”
Now here she was, jarring water to hand out at a local homeless shelter. Picking strawberries and tomatoes and living like a farm hand. She doesn’t find it to be all too bad, really. She’s helping, in the grand scheme of things. Even in her small little ways, she is healing the planet.
* * *
In another part of the country that Isabelle couldn’t even dream of living in, a group of executives is deciding whether or not to raise the price of water.
“We could thicken the packaging,” one suggests, a coolness to their tone that matches their smooth navy suit, “It’d be advertised as more secure.”
“It could work,” someone else says. There’s a round of nods, and they all walk off to their respective jobs in their respective offices in their respective corridors.
If they were anything other than powerful, they could’ve been described as mice in a maze.
* * *
In a factory that the executives would never step foot in, plastic is being produced by the masses. It took time for the engineers to redesign some of the machines, adding different sized extruding holes and the like, but it still worked out. Single-use gallons were pumped out, and workers clocked in and out, not caring much for the change. It was still same old, same old.
The factory pumps out gallons of water and gallons of smog. The cash flows in like a river.
* * *
Somewhere, an executive cashes a check.
* * *
Somewhere, Isabelle jars some water.
* * *
Somewhere, a city breathes in waste.