Stylus of the Green | A Message From June, 1989

Third place winner in ClimateScience Global Community Story Contest, September 2022

Waking up in my grass bed, I winced in pain. I looked at my body. I barely had any golden colour left on my skin.

I know, I don’t have much time. Perhaps this very day I’ll drift to peace. So I’m relating the story of my life.

Long ago, it wasn’t like this. We lived happily here, hopped around to catch insects, and danced in the rain. The mountain was a paradise for us then. But everything began to change. The weather began to get drier and drier. There was hardly any rain; if any, it brought only more heat. In that foul weather, a deadly fungus began to grow quickly, spreading an epidemic in our population. My parents, siblings, friends all perished to that fungal disease.

But I’m not heartbroken. Because I know, I’ll be reunited with them very soon.

Everybody in our colony is gone. Perhaps I’m the last survivor of the golden toad species.

But I know what has brought this disaster. My best friend told me all he had seen before death. They were felling more and more trees, and emitting more and more smoke from their houses. They spread more poison, and killed those who could remove it. The weather changed because of that. 

I know, very soon the angels will take me away. So my last prayer to the most intelligent creatures of the world is: please don’t repeat the mistake you’ve made with us. 

Please, don’t make another species go extinct.

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