Digging our paddles into the freezing water, our group of hunters propelled our sealskin boat forward. Our eyes scoured the ocean's surface in search of an exposed tail or even a splash of water that would signal our first proper meal in weeks. The waters in this area had steadily acidified over the years, resulting in fewer whales and seals for us to hunt. Gripping my paddle, I pushed with the little energy I had left, the motion that was once so easy and effortless becoming strenuous and exhausting. Everyone in the village was starving; their features sunken, and their ribs jutting out of their chests like dozens of bony knives. The only reason we could still muster the energy to even go out hunting was the fervent hope that maybe, today, we'd finally be able to bring up a catch that could feed us for days. However, even when we did manage to latch onto a bow head with our harpoons, the sea ice was often too thin to bring it up, and we were forced to let it go.
After hours of searching, we were forced to return to the village empty handed and crestfallen. Discouraged, we trudged back to our homes with nothing to feed our starving families with. I winced as I thought of my daughter, who had been experiencing swelling in her stomach, feet, and ankles for months now. If she didn't get any food in the next few days, she would certainly die. These symptoms, brought on by the starvation, were a common occurrence nowadays. In fact, some people had swelled so much that from a distance, they almost looked fat and well fed.
Arriving at my house, I saw my wife look up at me expectantly, before
quickly turning away. I knew she was trying to hide it, but the disappointment was evident on her face. We'd have to dip into our quickly diminishing stores once more to feed our family.
"Tomorrow. We'll get something tomorrow. I'm sure of it."
She nodded without looking at me, her eyes dull and hollow. She'd
heard those words so many times that they had become meaningless. Angered with myself, I went up the stairs, stepping softly to avoid waking our daughter.
The next morning, I walked outside to check on my fields, although I knew that nothing would come of it. Touching the barren ground, I I sighed to myself. Once the sea levels had risen, the waters swept over our lands multiple times a year, washing away our crops and fields.
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