In a dystopian future, humanity was dissipating. This caused the survivors to live in small towns far from human civilization, away from violence and chaos.
Faced with the crisis and insecurity in which we lived, getting used to it was not easy, after living in a world where technology and the human mind brought everything to us at less than a click.
We remembered that it was said that in the future robots were going to invade our civilization. But after the explosion of that dark night, all that technology was lost and we survivors had to go back to working the land, the house and fishing to stay alive. We had to leave our homes in the face of looting and hide in the mountains; that was our new home. Of what we had, only memories remained.
It was difficult to adapt, especially for me and my family. I worked online from home and my children were distracted with cell phones and video games, while their colors and play dough continued to powder; nowadays we don't even have that. Nothing long ago we communicated without seeing each other, because the phone was always in our midst, now we only have ourselves and the same old stories.
Now that everything is lost, I can detail everyone's faces, including my own, in a reflection in the water, because I don't even have a simple mirror anymore. There is no more mokaccino, no more coffee vending machines, no more delivery. Now we struggle to survive, without hamburgers, without comforts, without vanities, in short, without anything. Recovering those beans we once didn't want to feed ourselves.
My husband was on the verge of madness, because there was no more technology and we were not used to the hard work in the fields. There was nothing left, only dust and ashes, few clothes and much sadness, much thirst and only cold, smell of death and hopelessness.
And in a delirium, in the afternoon hours, the lack of coffee made us get into a bad mood. There were no roads, it was only bush, savannah and small roads that we were opening in the mountains. As best we could, we settled in a field in the middle of nowhere, where we could find water nearby through a creek. Some of us built small improvised houses to cover ourselves from the rain and the inclement sun and little by little we gave life to that place.
I remembered at that moment that an elderly man who had grown fond of my children had told me that he had many jars full of seeds, which he hid buried in case the rebels showed up. They always wiped out everyone in their path, leaving more famine than before, so he kept them hidden, but whenever we talked he always told me where this place was and that it would be a treasure he would leave for my family.
Days later, that old man was not seen and, when we looked for him, he had died because of his advanced age. In our talks he had given me a lot of advice, he told me that in his times there were no banks and they had to bury their money to avoid being robbed and humanity had returned to what it was before.
Remembering these words and how in each conversation he was guiding me to that place where he hid those seeds that at that time were the most valuable thing for him, I knew that it was that treasure that he had told me he kept for my family and that at the time it only seemed to me a joke to pass the time.
So, placing myself in his little wooden house, I remembered his words that “what was of great value was always surrounded by flowers”. It was all making more and more sense in my mind and I remembered how he was approaching a little garden he had built, giving it life and color where there was nothing.
So I went to that place and started digging, until I found several jars filled with the seeds. During our talks I had told him how I missed the taste of my afternoon coffee and that I might never taste it again. He just told me that as long as I was alive there would be hope. I ventured out to look for those seeds of happiness and when I finally dug them up I saw that they were darker than usual and had a stronger smell. I felt hopeful after a long time; I didn't know how long it had been since I had last had coffee. I just looked up at the sky and smiled as I opened my arms and waved to the sky as a sign of gratitude.
It was at that moment when I felt a loud sound. I didn't know if it was the rebels, I was afraid of dying or that they would steal my coffee beans. I didn't know where the noise was coming from, until seconds later I felt a strange force move my leg and a voice pronounced my name in the distance. I was terrified.
When I realized what was really happening, I looked at my son, who was telling me that the water had boiled and that I had fallen asleep on the cabinet while I was putting the water on the stove to make my afternoon coffee. It was him moving my leg calling me and it all started to make sense. It was just a dream from which I had finally awakened and I could savor my cup of freshly brewed coffee without drama, knowing that there was still enough coffee in the world to continue enjoying its unparalleled flavor.
Own images by Yeli Marín. I used the translator DeepL to share with you the English version and the Canva application for the thumbnail photo.
Beautiful writing. Have a good day