Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists

https://soundcloud.com/user-28081890/no-longer-blue/s-3Ks0r I walked back and forth in my room, looking out at skies that were no longer blue. The television droned on. “Oxygen levels are steadily decreasing, and oxygen costs are higher than ever. On to today’s weather, in New Delhi, 679 micrograms of PM 2.5 and high temperatures of . . .” I laughed, the sound becoming louder and louder, and I knew I had to stop. I couldn’t. I rolled around on the cold blankets. I could become rich. All I had to do was tell the people that oxygen was running out. Raise the prices. The world would believe that I was diligently handing out oxygen to the poor people of India. Everyone was overreacting, talking about how people needed more oxygen, blah blah blah, but I didn’t believe them How bad could conditions be? I laughed and laughed, until my throat was hoarse, and then laughed some more. I jumped on my bed, onto my couch, trying to touch the ceiling. Someone pounded on the door and yelled, “Stop screaming!” I looked up and sighed. No one could stop me. I skipped outside and yelled at the buildings, “Take THAT!” I stretched luxuriously, and walked up to my car. I drove to my factories in my family mountain, where we produced oxygen. I got out of my car to remove the heavy metal fences that were filled with stickers like “Private Property” or “No Trespassing.” I stopped by the factory to get a bottle of water. One of the only clean places in India, Mt. Kodachadri was perfect for hiking. I payed no attention to the road as I walked, watching concerts of my favorite artist. A few minutes later, I was hopelessly lost. It was dark and foggy, and I thought I could hear a tiger in the distance. I shivered. It was getting colder by the minute. My battery was running out, and I kept tripping over roots. I kept walking for who knows how long, faulting my neighbor. Stupid neighbor. If she hadn’t yelled at me, I wouldn’t have had to walk around my mountain. I wouldn’t be here, lost and hungry and cold. Worse, it started to rain. Soaked to the bones, I walked and walked until I stumbled upon a small tent. A small fire remained near the foot of the tent. There was light inside. The whole mountain was surrounded by signs; it was impossible not to run into one, especially this deep inside, not that I knew where I was, but I just had this feeling I was near the heart of the mountain. Anyhow, it was their fault for trespassing. I unzipped the entrance and crawled in. A man, maybe in his mid-forties, looked up, surprised to see someone crawl into his tent. In his lap was a 4-ish looking little girl, with her dark hair in a braid. The girl was tiny, and had sallow, sunken skin. Her lips were tinged blue, and her big eyes stared at me. An intruder. She lifted her head, and as soon as she did, she started coughing. It was a while before she stopped, and even then, she was wheezing, She hugged her little teddy bear tight and coughed, as if it was her lifeline. I stared at her, a small lump forming in the pit of my stomach. “Natasha has asthma. It’s a result of the pollution.” I looked up. I had forgotten he was there. I cleared my throat. “This is private property.” He nodded, and said, “I only stay here for a day. Once a month.” As if that made up for trespassing. He pointed his chin to his daughter. “She. . . has trouble breathing in the city. But both my wife and my work are there, so. . .” Thunder tumbled, and I flinched. “Would you like Bee-Bee?” She caught me cringing, and offered her tattered old teddy bear, its once-polished eyes dulled from all the times she had rubbed it. I slowly took it from her. Our hands touched, and she smiled at me, eyes sparkling. And then she started coughing. She hacked. She coughed. Her lips took a shallow blue hue, and I thought I could see blood on the edges. Her father put a cloth to her mouth, and patted her on the back. I could only look on, horrified, as red blossomed onto the white cloth. The stone became heavier. It dropped lower into my stomach, and I realized what the dirty feeling was: guilt. Why was I feeling guilty? I held the teddy bear, thinking. Strangely enough, I didn’t feel the need to chase these strangers away. I sat thinking for some more. Soon, I stood and left without a word. Now, three years later. I am walking around, looking at the kids covered in dirt. I help a child struggling to depot a sapling. Brushing dirt off my shorts, I walk into the building. Avoiding various tents, I check the oxygen income, and straighten the sign that reads: “Free to Those in Need.” Glancing at the capsules full of oxygen, and within them, children, I smile. I breathe deeply, a feeling of accomplishment creeping through me. I open my eyes, only to see a blur of pink running towards me. Natasha flies up into my arms. Her eyes sparkle even more than the first time I met her, and she looks healthier than ever. Her cheeks are rosy, and her face is no longer blue.   Sources: New York Times: Choking in New Delhi https://www.vox.com/energy-and-environment/2018/11/8/18075340/delhi-pollution-diwali-india

“Blue Island” by Adhi Sukhdial Today we showered. We always all shower with our cold water, on the first Sunday of the month. This Sunday is particularly special though, because it is also the first day of 2186, which means we will look through our family photo album! My little sister Maisie runs around singing, “photographs, photographs, let’s look at photographs.” Papa gets out the leather bound book of pictures. Leather is the skin of animals pounded and soaked in urine. They used to use it all the time before the Microplanet law was put in place. The Microplanet law bans eating at will- it says a person should eat one sturdy meal a day and waste nothing. They also banned eating meat or dairy and using any kind of plastic or fossil fuels. I’ve heard something awful would have happened if they had not put that law in place. Each family is only supposed to have one child, due to overpopulation. Any others will be executed. Because of this we have had to keep Maisie a secret, sharing our food rations with her and sometimes hiding her in the basement. I look at Maisie with sad eyes as she skips around the small house without a care in the world. I’ll never understand how she can be so happy knowing her life is at risk every single day. “Play, play, play with me, June,” sings Maisie. “You can play after we look at photographs,” says Mother sternly. “Alright,” says Maisie, since we all know there is no point in negotiating with Mother. Papa opens the fat book. We all look at it giddy with excitement. They used to read books all the time but no longer can because it wastes paper. Papa shows us the first page where there is a picture of an eight-year-old girl. She wears a frilly, layered dress. We don’t have frills and layers anymore because it would use too much dye and fabric. The girl is sitting on a beach but it is nothing like the beaches we have — the water is a beautiful turquoise blue and the sand looks so smooth. I can almost hear the waves crashing onto the beach. Now the ocean is a murky brown and the waves roll onto the microplastic sand. Underneath is a picture of a young man on a sailboat. They used to travel between continents by sailboat or airplane. We stopped using sailboats because of the giant whirlpool of plastic, which will suck anything in the sea into it. We stopped using airplanes because they released tons of fuel into the already polluted gray sky. I heard that before the water level rose there was a continent called North America and try to imagine what it was like. This thought intrigues me but it also scares me — what if Europe sank under the sea? Mother says North America is just a myth. I pretend to agree but secretly I think it was real. Papa turns the page and as he does, I hear a voice from our speaker. Every home has a speaker that gives instructions in emergencies. I’ve never actually heard it go on before but right away I know what it is. The voice on the speaker says, “Due to rising water levels, we are holding an evacuation at six o’clock tomorrow morning. Pack your possessions and meet at the city centre. Anyone who is older than fifty or younger than three will be left behind.” Maisie begins to run around the house, crying. “What are we gonna do? What’s gonna happen to us? What’s happeni-?” “Calm down child!” says Mother sharply and then more gently, “I know you can do this Maisie Daisy, you just have to trust me, everything’s going to be okay.” Sniffling, Maisie nods her head and wipes her eyes with her sleeve. I’ve never heard Mother sound so gentle. I guess I just figured she was always stern and strict. Mother straightens up and scolds in her normal brisk tone “Well, what are we waiting for, we’ve got a big day tomorrow, everyone go pack before we eat and then we’ve got to rest.” After we’ve packed our meager possessions and ate our meal of roasted vegetables, it’s time for bed. Maisie and I hug goodnight to Mother and Papa. As we are leaving the room, Papa, who never seems to speak, says, “remember how blessed we are, everything is going to be okay.” Once we’re out of earshot, Maisie whispers “What was that about?” I just shake my head and say, “Come on, let’s get to bed.” We all wake early to the sound of the loudspeaker blaring, “Everybody who is part of the evacuation, please meet at the town square in ten minutes.” We get there with one minute to spare and in all the chaos nobody seems to notice Maisie as we join the crowd. I hear the same man who was on the loudspeaker shouting through a megaphone: “Everyone follow me please and watch the cliff edge.” We begin to climb into the Alps. After we’ve hiked for hours I finally think to look behind me. I see our little huts surrounded by gray water and shriveled grass. I imagine how it used to be, with blue oceans, sandy beaches and green trees. I look at Papa who is walking next to me and say, “Do you think that if our ancestors had treated the earth differently, it wouldn’t be ruined today?” “Maybe,” murmurs father. “If they hadn’t been so ignorant, thinking they were superior to everything else, maybe they could have made a difference and the world wouldn’t be how it is today.” My eyes fly open and sitting up in bed, I shudder. I look out my window at the sun rising over the sparkling blue ocean. It was just a dream after all. But will it be a dream forever or is this what the world will be

I had never liked the ocean, and that was before I fell off the boat and into it, headfirst. My dad and I were on one of his boating trips. He was a scientist on climate change, and every few months, he ventured out into the deep Pacific waters, and took a temperature of the water, with a tool called a thermometer. This was the first time he had let me come along, I was ten years old after all, and despite my great dislike of the water, I had always been eager to see what he had done on these mysterious trips, and when he walked into my room the prior Sunday and asked if I wanted to come along, I had jumped at the opportunity. Now, though, gripping the bar that surrounded the seats, as the boat rocked back and forth on the teetering water, I wasn’t so sure. My dad unlocked a cabinet beneath the control panel, and pulled out a bin, in which he kept all of his gear. He pulled out his thermometer from the bag, and placed it gingerly on his palm. He grabbed my hand, and helped me steadily to my feet, and he lead me slowly across the deck to the slide door where he took the temperature. “You’re okay, Tara.” He soothed, pushing me gently down onto the cushiony seat, and carefully opening the slide door. “Let’s take temp, okay?” He looked up at me, and I swallowed the lump in my throat, and moved my head in what I hoped was I nod. I was so scared and seasick, I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. He held my arm with one hand, and with the other, he slowly extended his fingers into the dark, murky water, with the thermometer clenched tightly in his hand. He stopped when his elbow was completely submerged in water. “That’ll do,” he said, and glanced at me “Last time I checked was last month, in September. It was 64.6 degrees Fahrenheit. Let’s hope it’s changed.” He sighed, and pushed a tuft of graying hair out of his eyes, resuming his grasp on my wrist. It was silent for a moment, except for the rhythmic slosh of the small waves against the side of the boat. Suddenly, there came a beep! from down below. My dad and I automatically turned towards it, like a puppet string connecting us both. My dad reached down and pulled out the thermometer. The reading blinked on and off, in black, digital font: 64.71. My dad heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s only a little bit more than last month.” I offered soothingly. “Tara,” he said, in a clipped voice “.6 degrees of an increase isn’t a little bit, not in a span of a month.” The next moment seemed to happen in slow motion. I moved towards the slide door, crouching down onto the bumpy white surface of my dad’s boat, and slowly extending my hand outwards to feel the water. My dad moved across the deck to the steering compartment, and pressed the ignition as soon as my hands dipped into the water’s murk. I felt the surface of the boat beneath my bare feet slip away, I felt myself plummet into what felt like ice, my legs kicking beneath me. My head dunked below the surface, and a mouthful of salt swallowed down my throat. “Dad!” I screamed, gasping for breath “DAD!” My dad’s boat was fast, and while he had just ignited the engine moments ago, he was already some fifty yards away. Somehow, the wind carried my words over to him. He turned around, and his face contracted, seeing me struggling in the water. “Tara!” Without a second’s hesitation, he put the boat in reverse and revved up the engine. He brought it ten yards from where I stood, and as though he did this every day, dove off the boat from the bar. He had a rope with him, and as soon as he got a few feet from me, threw the rope to me. I immediately understood, and grabbed the rope with all my might, my breath coming in rasps. He pulled me behind him, with so much strength, strength I didn’t know my father even had, and we got to the boat in seconds. “I’m sorry, T.” Dad sighed, and rubbed a hand through his ruffled hair. “Dad, that was actually pretty cool!” I told him, and has I thought about it more, it was. “I mean, I’ve always wanted to see what you do. You and your colleagues have probably fallen in before! I remember the stories you used to tell me. Remember Mike? He fell in taking the temperature!” I grinned, the sun warming my back. Dad shook his head, smiling “I don’t even know how that happened.” I laughed, and moved to the other side of the boat, where the sliding door opened. “What’s that?” I asked curiously, pointing to an invisible piece of dirt. “What’s what?” Dad replied, hurriedly walking over. He bent down “Where?” In one fluid motion, I slide open the door, and pushed him over the side of the boat, laughing. He grinned before he even hit the water- he must have been used to it. “Smooth move, Ex-lax!” he teased, catching my ankle, and pulling me down with him. “Hey!” I called, but I was laughing as I hit the cold water, that didn’t really feel that cold anymore. Happiness that I couldn’t even describe lit through me, warming my body despite being in the icy water. That evening when we got home, my mom was waiting for us. She wrapped me in a hug, but after a moment pulled back. “Why are you so wet?” She asked in amusement. She didn’t sound angry, just a little amused. My dad and I looked at each other “A little water fight.” I answered, and we both burst out laughing.