The Water Barer.

I was surprised to see only a handful of people standing along the shore when I arrived. It had taken me half an hour walk from the bus station, and my watch already read 7:15. The event had started at 6:30. I looked out at the scarce amount of people gathered on the beach. Tightly huddled together, standing on the part of the beach where the sand met the sidewalk, and looking very out of place, were three men wearing finely tailored suits. The first one was a fat balding man wiping his glasses with a silk cloth; the second looked like a weasel, and kept darting his eyes from the sidewalk to the shoreline. The third man was the one whom I thought to be the Mayor, recently recovered from his first heart attack.

It was chilly that summer night—a good sign for all of us after battling years of hot, blistering weather. A cool breeze drifted from the lake, sending goose bumps along my arms. I shivered as I took notice of the other onlookers. There was a young woman wearing a sundress made entirely out of hemp. I assumed that she was one of the last PETA activists still standing. There was a cluster of artsy men and women about my age, fidgeting nervously as they were no doubt suffering from the recent worldwide smoking ban. Out of the corner of my eye, I took note of an elderly couple, who stood barefoot with their toes sinking into the sand—an act that no one else dared to do.

The beach was supposed to be decontaminated, but the sand was still sprinkled with patches of a moldy, yellow-green, crystallized almost-sand. The water was an off-shade of navy blue, which wasn’t much better than the black gloop it used to be. Still, tonight was the grand re-opening of Lake Michigan, proof that the Midwest was saved from artificially engineered water and living on weak solar power. Chicago’s economy would start thriving again, and it would become the safe haven and landmark for a greater America.

The mayor cleared his throat and addressed the pitiful crowd. No one else had the courage to attend this piece of history, and it seemed that we were the only ones willing to risk getting radiation from the beach’s superb purification.

“Thank you for attending this wondrous occasion! Chicago’s success with Project Green is truly a magnificent accomplishment,” the mayor said, hands quivering as he backed as far away from the shore as possible. “We are proud to once again open the beaches of Lake Michigan to all people, near and far! We are the first of the Great Lakes to be cleansed of all harmful pollutants, and the government has ruled Lake Michigan safe for human contact!”

I feebly applauded this miserable speech, and choose to ignore the rest of the mayor’s words. Chicago had cleaned up, but what else was there to say? The beach may be safe to walk on, but society was still afraid to come in contact with Mother Earth. Those standing here were the few brave souls who still embraced nature and appreciated humanity’s attempt to restore it to it’s former, glorious self.

The three officials were in a huddle again, and I watched as the artsy group prepared for the long walk back to the bus station. The woman in the hemp dress was taking depressing pictures of the beach, and I noticed a Chicago Tribune press-pass dangling from her neck. The old couple looked content standing in the sand, watching the sun set behind the murky horizon.

I slowly bent down and untied my laces, and carefully, I removed my shoes. As my feet touched the sand, I winced, expecting to feel some sort of acidic burning sensation. There was nothing of the sort—only the warm, soft, squishy feeling of sand between my toes. It felt like freedom. I cautiously stepped to the water’s edge, dodging the small waves that threatened to make nip at my toes. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, and then walked, right foot before left, into the water. I was overcome with a thrilling sensation. Suddenly, my feet were in pain, as if thousands of needles were thrust into them simultaneously. The water was so cold it sent a shock throughout my entire body. I couldn’t breathe. This feeling of pleasure drowned all my senses at once. I was suddenly running through the lake, sending water everywhere. I lowered my trembling hands to the surface, splashing my hair, my face, and my neck. My body was soaked with this gift from the heavens. I lowered my hands again, capturing water in my palms. I raised my hands to my lips, and I drank the sweetest, richest, most electrifying liquid known to man.

A rapid sequence of flashes startled me. I awoke from my trance and turned to see the hemp woman lowering her camera away from her eyes, her jaw dropped in disbelief. All eyes were set on me. I cautiously stepped back onto the crystallized sand, gathering my shoes, saying nothing and looking at no one. I walked back to the sidewalk, ignoring each and every witness.

When I reached the elderly couple, I took hold of the old man’s hand and squeezed. Our eyes met, and for a second I felt a divine connection. I never wanted to let go. After a moment, the old man forced his hand out of my grasp. He smiled, nodded, and directed his wife in the opposite direction I was headed.

I took the bus home, leaving Lake Michigan behind forever. The others had lost their chance to redeem themselves, but as I left this corroding Earth behind, I knew that I was the one who had been saved.