Short stories by a hopeful climate writer

“Honey, wouldn’t it be nice to have a human servant?” Barbara set her metallic voice on lovely wife mode.

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“What? Did they not become extinct in 2100?” Dexter turned off the New New York Times’ front page projected from his eyes and scanned Barbara’s pink face.

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“Apparently not.” Her immaculate teeth glinted in the sunlight.

As Teo fell flat on his face, he heard the crowd roaring.

 

The shouting muffled the referee’s whistle, who decreed the penalty.

After placing the football on the white spot, Teo took five steps back.

 

Wiping sweat from his forehead, he glanced at the electronic scoreboard which read: minute 71, Alianza 1 – Universitario 1.

 

When his gaze shifted to meet the keeper’s, he noticed dark clouds looming behind the goal. 

A clap of thunder resonated within the now silent Matute stadium, with over thirty-thousand people dreaming on Alianza winning El Clasico after twenty years.

 

Teo felt a twinge of panic as the 2017-flood flashed through his mind.