The Road To Juneau (part 1)

The road to Juno, Alaska was notoriously difficult to navigate. It was littered with potholes and cracks in the aged asphalt, its yellow lines faded and indecipherable. The sun bore down constantly on the occasional passerby and speed limit signs lay askew, painted with archaic graffiti. For miles in either direction, a vast emptiness ruled the landscape, a nothingness of charred earth and dead shrubbery.

The city of eight million, a bustling metropolis of pollution and overcrowding. It was all he had ever known, his beloved hometown amidst the endless desert. He had heard stories about a lost history.

In this corner pocket of the world, the road served as a reminder of a world long gone. Where had once stood frost-ridden pines and rushing rivers stands the dying remnants of a poisoned Earth. The road, in another time, had shuttled brave adventurers to the great wilderness, seeking solace in the fresh arctic air, commanded by their own curiosity. Now, Alaska’s last great appeal stood in its undiscovered oil deposits and bustling industry.

When teachers taught students the cardinal directions in schools, they never mentioned south. South didn’t exist anymore; it was obliterated from maps and compasses and GPS. South was a fleeting image, a destination far removed from the present reality and a dream never remembered in the morning.

Maps looked different than they used to. Countries, divided into states, and their great borders, had morphed into one, endless fire-line. In a testament to historical accuracy, important cities were labeled with their depth under water. New York, in the latest study, stood at -6500m. The tip of the Empire State Building just stood out across the horizon. A vibrant city drowned in sloshing waves. To be continued..