Wings of a Raven, chapter 14. “memories from the stream, decaying whales”.

Chapter fourteen from book one in my near future sci-fi book universe, 2028AD.

Mike Koontz
Nov 20, 2018 · 9 min read

“Like a sea of decaying whales”.

That was the way I remembered the world now that I rest my back and legs, sitting down on the bare ground, leaning back against this towering ash tree that protrudes around me, almost hiding my entire being beneath its comforting branches that wrap around my chest and shoulders.

The ashen tree keeps gently poking through my clothes and at times it’s moving critters and body scratch against my skin with green leafs and limbs that tingle in the fluttering breeze while providing strokes of natures comfort and company.

And for reasons that keep alluding me I survey the world around me, but I do not really see it, it is there right in front of me, but my view is hazy and my attention keeps slipping out of focus and persistent stories from the forgotten past keep rising to snatch the attention away from what my eyes are actually seeing in the surrounding world.

Inside my somewhat unseeing eyes, I walk across the courtyard of what used to be, down the allure of my inner landscape and the world that used to be.

And somehow, I tell myself that I did not live some of these stories. It is as if I am sitting here, beneath this tree, still sketching scenes on my yoga book not from my own life, but from a life that belong to someone else.

Moments and thoughts from someone else’s inner mind.

The things I write and sketch are broken bits of life that call upon us from beyond the fall of us all. Their words and memories, not complete, not really there, yet growing in importance as they change, becoming both more obscure and abstract as they become more real and significant.

But no matter how they change, they are all things and moments lived by me and you, and by others. Stolen seconds from the past and the future, memories of things lived and still waiting to happen.

But how could that be?

They all had to be my own thoughts, my dreams of the still changing future, mixed up with my own memories of the past we lived. I am quite sure of that. Are they not?. And how could they not entirely be my own?

In my mind, hidden away from the beauty of the surrounding landscape I was actually sitting in, the dead and dying whales floated in their own silence.

A silence born in nothing but despair brought to acoustic life through the siren song of a wasteland of neglect. No one might ever again hear its tones and rhythm, but the silence itself played back a song and an act of importance for all to see and hear.

Their giant bodies had decayed from atrophy, a slow self-murder brought about by the act of consuming its own flesh and tissue as they one by one starved to death, trapped inside this globally connected body of water we called the plastic ocean.

The sharks died too, but they feasted a little bit longer than the peaceful whales, they feasted on the corpses of the whales, the drowned people, and the putrified fish. Food that was polluted beyond reason, unfit for anyone, but all they had left to eat, as they all become victims of toxins and asphyxiation.

Eventually, the sharks died like all the others. So did the orcas too.

In the end, every living thing hiding in the plastic oceans died. Trapped inside oceans made up of plastic litter and dead water without oxygen. Polluted by human industries and food production, fossil fuel, algae’s blooming, plastic litter, toxins, nuclear runoff.

They died, strangled and misformed while ruthless people kept speeding across the surface of the ocean on their fun boat vessels, hurling ever more litter and toxins straight into the sea.

People that kept laughing at the dying animals, laughing at the people that had to eat the things that lived inside the polluted water, laughing at the people that were stupid enough to swim in the plastic ocean. All while they filmed their stupid shit, displayed on youtube, for the world to see. They had all died now.

Well, some had survived the fall, of course. The ocean is a vast graveyard after all, and it is equally a vast nursery, so just like some survived on land, humans, plants, and animals adapted to a life in the clean and sustainable cities.

Red squirrels found shelters amongst the sky high forest scrapers, and others had survived the nightmare that was the last fossil fuel cities on Earth. Countless of people died, countless of species was wiped out as we suffocated the entire world.

But some lived, some survived, and some created healthily, thriving oceans of refugee up on land and out at sea. And likewise, some of the whales and sharks that had lived and swum in the old world still swam and hunted.

Life was magnificent like that. And while the human race might wipe itself out one day no matter how much some of us tried to change our species destructive way of life, but no matter our outcome, the planet would survive us, and organic life would prevail.

Life always found a way to rebound, to grow strong and resilient, to progress and evolve and reclaim what was essential for a thriving life. We had abused and killed most of the planet, and large chunks of humanity with it, but somehow, life stood firm and once we had almost collapsed under the weight of our self-abuse, the world started to reclaim its natural kingdom.

And that at least made me happy.

The fall of this world was not natures doing, it was our collective shame that was the failure and the cause. We allowed this injustice to happen to each other for nothing but blind arrogance.

I can see inside my mind, the sheltered cities, the thriving landscape outside. Enclaves of the natural ecosystem, living out a life of technology and nature in perfect balance as they try to make a better world.

I can also see the unforgiving, the fossil fuel barons, the ones that beat, abuse, kill and bully the homeless in the streets, the ones that pray to the evil of Nazi ideology as they live out their worthless lives. They are the ones that still pray to the old gods of capitalism.

I can see them too, but they have no future. They just ravage whatever life is left to abuse. They revel in that self destructive glorification of hate and violence, a life of stupidity in full display.

I have seen the healthy people living in those far away sustainable cities, and I have seen the horror of the abyss, the last fossil fuel cities on this planet. Those that refused to learn the lesson. The scavengers that still feast on the backbones of others. I can see the slavery. The autonomous machines that rule those streets, the people that starve, living in shelters and working for nothing but the hope of bread from their fossil fuel owners.

The children that are sold and raped. The women, killed or used as sexual toys and gifts to the worker of the day.

And there are, others like me, like us, like you and me and your mother, living in the wilderness, living in peace and harmony with this planet once again.

But I wonder if the human race will be quick to forget the ocean of dead whales and the song of entire species that starved to death in a flood of toxins and plastic pollution.

Will they forget the hundreds of millions of refugees, all the homeless without hope, and shelter, without food and care. The walking dead that was allowed nowhere, shunned by the world that opted for profit at the expense of all.

But they were also shunned by the world that hoped to survive the onslaught of those that refused to change. The sustainable cities built a working ecosystem, they honored the science and the nature, they lived like we should always have done, but their resources was still to scarce, their balanced system still not sufficient for the entire world of survivors.

So they too had to shun most of the horde of refugees.

I sketch, and I write, as I wonder why my memories seem to come, from both the past and the unknown future, I wonder why it all seems so familiar and yet so strange, and at times I grasp for air as the dark weight of the ocean pulls me under.

At times, it is as if my eyes cloud and the world becomes a blur of hazy fog with beams of sunlight shining down but obscured by the filthy ocean water, I fight it back and take strong firm strokes with my arms and legs as I shoot back up to the surface. Like an arrow, I pierce the water, swift and agile.

I am greeted, by air that is sticky. Filthy smog filled air that fills my lungs as I breach the salty waves right next to the bloated rotten carcass of a gigantic right whale.

My eyes stare straight into its dead hollow gaze as we float together through an ocean of litter and sickness. A boat slowly passes us by, with sounds and light that tear through the night.

They are hunters, and I know them well.

The screams from the boat carve through the stench of polluted water that clasp and stitches itself to your skin.

I can see the litter they dump into the ocean, moments before they start carving into the rotten whale carcass right next to me. I can hear them speak about the profit they will be making, bbq right whale ribs. I can see them finish up, and in the end, as I float together with the lump of butchered meat that is this whale, I watch them kill the unemployed extras they had picked up as their crew down at the docks earlier today. They kill them too, and like the whale, they carve the dead people into meal sized sticks of bbq meat.

That is, after all, all that is left of the human worth, in the last fossil fuel cities. Meat and cheap labor, and you do not negotiate with labor when it is so abundantly free, you just cut the weight away.

Replace, consume and think none of tomorrow.

Fresh meat they say, I hear their voices through the smog and polluted air. They speak about the maggots at the fossil fuel dock and how they will pay good for today’s crop of BBQ meat. Feeding on their worthless own. The abhorrent fossil fuel men break out in laughter. As they talk about the irony.

And I remember, that life at sea and the concrete harbor is a hard life, no one will even wonder about a few more missing fisherman. And tomorrow new and hopeful unemployed people will be lining up, hoping for a spot on one of the whalers setting out to sea, hoping for something more than a loaf of bread and a whore being handed out in the evening.

And once they have served their purpose, they too will be killed, butchered, bbq´d and sold to the waiting line of hungry and unemployed. Hundreds of millions just in this part of the world.

Waiting for their slice of bread.

And I know that this is the future and the past, the life we left behind as we abandoned that old planet and ourselves. And then, I sink back into the darkness of the plastic ocean. I open my eyes, unyielding, and unwilling to die and I look up into the branches and green vibrant leafs of the ashen tree I am still resting my back against. And I know that this tree belongs to the future I have not yet lived.

And I wonder about the now. What is the now. And where exactly am I. And where are you. And finally, I remember, that I have to come and get you.

I have to find you.

Buy and own my book ( or wait for the next chapter to appear here on my ‘Beyond2c’ magazine.) ISBN: 9781537855714


From the northern halls of the Vikings home comes this tribe of creative heralds. Writers, poets, photographers, creatives, great thinkers, fitness geeks, and experts. There are no stones and thoughts, and creative adventures left unturned in the pages of Beyond2c.

Mike Koontz

Written by

Author & Photography. PT, health & fitness. Science and sustainability advocate | ,



From the northern halls of the Vikings home comes this tribe of creative heralds. Writers, poets, photographers, creatives, great thinkers, fitness geeks, and experts. There are no stones and thoughts, and creative adventures left unturned in the pages of Beyond2c.