“It’s hard to believe it’s 45 Celsius out there” his friend said, “It looks like a Christmas Card.”
“When the fresh water ran out, they built those desalinization units,” he said, pointing at the domes stretching across the countryside. “Now the oceans are evaporating, the country’s burning and the salt and ash are drifting like snow. We can’t grow crops and had to slaughter the cattle.”
“I guess it won’t matter much longer anyway. The sun’s growing every day. We’d soon be toast.”
“More like toasted”
They giggled for a moment and then abruptly stopped, picking up their pistols. ©
Posted on Friday Fictioneers
Thanks to © Douglas M. MacIlroy for the Photo Prompt
The fire’s broken through the roof but it looks as if they’re getting it under control. Too bad, I hate this house. The roof leaks and the plumbing needs repair. I can’t afford to fix it what with two mortgages and my business going under. I wish it had burnt to the ground. At least there would have been enough insurance to start again.
The fire department got here pretty quickly. I wonder who called them. The investigator’s waving me over. They’ll never prove anything of course, but they’ll reject the claim. What the hell do I do now? ©
This post was submitted to Friday Fictioneers.
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot