Zero Degrees of Will

“Me?” Netty said with a wistful look in her eyes. “I would see New York City in its heyday—the buildings, the lights, the jazz clubs, the food, the clothes,” she sighed. 

Jane smiled, “I would see a coral reef. It’s hard to believe those colors could be real—and the fish!—can you even imagine something that crazy?” she said, making a fish-face with her lips.

“If I could go back in time,” Will said, glancing at the ancient thermometer showing the outdoor temperature, “I would inform our illustrious ancestors that, in the future, the high every day would be zero degrees.” 

No matter what they’d been taught in school, Will knew how life really used to be in Arizona. He had a yellowed and disintegrating paper copy of his great-grandmother’s Instagram diaries printed out. Makenzie had kept extensive records of her daily life. Everything she did, ate, and saw. It had been basic, daily life back then, but all of it was unthinkable now. 

“Then,” he said, standing up, “I would punch each of them in the face for letting this happen to us.”

A few of his podmates laughed. The rest nodded. It had been too cold to spend much time outside over the last two years. Before, that, too hot. All this time underground was getting to the best of them.

“As much fun as this delightful conversation is, I gotta get back to work,” he said. “Edible Food Proteins don’t make themselves.”