Every time I see this picture, I imagine this weird story.
It's the year 2107 and several major events have altered the course of human history.
Firstly, Earth's population was almost wiped out with the outbreak of World War III decades earlier. The war itself stemmed from a fatal conglomeration of pandemic disease, bad politics, pro-anarchic hacker movements, and nuclear weaponry.
Secondly, China became the first country to assert territorial claim over a chunk of Mars, galvanising a furious space race that almost killed the precarious detente being negotiated between superpowers in the aftermath of WWIII.
Thirdly, mankind has begun to slice up and colonise Mars, with multiple countries pouring resources into a universal terraforming process that will take at least another twenty to thirty years to complete. However, most of the terraforming and other technology being used for interplanetary administration is being funded by a powerful technocracy led by tech giants in Silicon Valley and Zhongguancun.
At present, Earth is being viewed as a backwash for the underprivileged. Those who are wealthy and educated book their tickets to Mars. Mars, where the technocrats have enforced stringent migration checks and requirements to ensure nobody 'undesirable' is able to penetrate the new intellectualist-socialist-democratic utopia they've started to build.
On Earth, few cities remain standing, and even fewer still function under a recognised government. Most others were pulverised completely during the war, or have fallen away to anarchist groups and self-serving warlords.
In those still functioning cities, the people are gripped by a widespread dysphoria. People are depressed, lacking in motivation, without hopes and dreams. Because dreams of peace and the future now belong on Mars. On Earth, all there is left around them are architectural ruins and pockets of ongoing violence and civil warfare.
New York and Washington no longer exist. Seoul and most of Southeast Asia is being occupied by belligerent Chinese and Japanese administrations. Much of Europe has succumbed to disease and is cordoned off as an extreme quarantine measure. After the war, many 'modern' first world cities turned to rubble, and have become just another graveyard for lost souls.
However.
In the midst of all the political bickering and daily threat of warfare, somewhere in the tiny and unassuming West African country of Gabon, this picturesque glasshouse stands.
It is a sunny afternoon, and pleasant zephyrs roam the air. The owner of this seemingly misplaced glasshouse, an ailing 103 year old WWIII veteran, strolls slowly in her wheelchair next to the potted plants, flowers and manicured hedges she had installed herself some decades ago. She comes to a stop at the far end of the glasshouse, taking in the colourful vista before her, admiring a scene of bliss that at the moment, very few people on Earth or Mars would ever be able to enjoy. To sit there without a worry, among beautiful flowers, and hear nothing but birdsong to break the tranquil rhythm of softly flowing water from a garden fountain, was an unthinkably lavish privilege.
A young boy bursts through the doors of the glasshouse. He looks about 16 years old. The veteran turns around, and says she's been expecting him. The boy blushes, apologising profusely for his tardiness, and then reaches into his bag, pulling out a weirdly shaped cylindrical instrument that is a holographic recorder. He has only been allocated 15 minutes for the interview.
Actually, that is incorrect. He won those 15 minutes through a lottery.
He will be the last person to speak to the world's only remaining WWIII soldier. And there is no leeway to stretch the time, as after those 15 minutes are up, she will die. She has chosen to die at a very specific time, having taken the necessary steps to implement her death.
He bumbles through his questions, knowing all too well the importance of her last words. They are the usual questions one would expect him to ask. What is your strongest memory of the war? Do you believe the war was ultimately meaningless? What do you think about the new Martian society? Do you have family or friends on Mars? What would you say to those in control of admission to Martian society? Do you think they are repeating the mistakes that led to World War III?
It is not long before those 15 minutes are up. The boy gulps in nervousness, thanking the veteran and stowing away his recorder. As he steps towards the door, the veteran asks him to stay. 'Please stay,' she smiles, 'and enjoy the sunlight with me.' When the boy nods in agreement and slowly steps back, she smiles even more broadly, her wrinkles twitching.
She sits in her wheelchair. He stands next to her. Both of them tilt their heads up to watch a flock of birds dance near the trees outside. In the further distance, hippos walk across the savannah plains. He doesn't dare peek a glance at her until minutes have passed.
When he finally musters up the courage to face her, he sees that her hands are clasped on her laps, and her eyes are firmly closed. She has fallen into a deep sleep from which she will never awake.
