A Contemporary Tale, Part 1

A Contemporary Tale, Part 1
Monday, March 31, 2025 by Dr. James W. Walraven

As he was pedaling home, Chaim was euphoric. He loved his new streamlined city bicycle. Surprisingly lightweight, it had front and rear lighting, full fenderguards, and predictable handling. It was such a joy to ride, such a green mode of transportation for his daily commute.

They’d had a breakthrough at work. As the head of the local branch of Climate Now!, a non-profit environmental advocacy firm, he had just concluded negotiations for their next symposium, a time of teaching at one of the biggest polluters in the area, a company that was finally bowing to the pressure to change. They’d been demonstrating in front of that manufacturing facility on and off for years.

Chaim was relieved that nationally, leadership had long-since rejected all federal funding; Climate Now! had no direct ties. Wanting to stay free of conflicts of interest, all their funding came from private grants. The chaos the new administration—he’d never mention the new president by name—had caused through defunding USAID, hadn’t impacted them at all, unlike others he knew.

Upon reaching home, he went up the steps to his first floor studio apartment, unlocked the door, and placed his bicycle just inside. He wished it was larger: at 400 square feet: with all his research materials strewn about, coupled with his computer command center—little living space was left. But, as he prided himself, he set a noble green example worth following.

His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten much at all that day. He ordered online, choosing a double pepperoni pizza. He smirked, letting out a big guffaw. He delighted in eating pork, throwing in relatives’ faces that he was a non-observant Jew. His support of the Gaza Palestinians—he abhorred October 7, but empathized with their frustration—never ceased to rile them.

The pizza arrived. He gave the delivery person a generous tip, and wolfed down half of the extra large pizza, placing the rest in his small fridge for the morning. Cold pizza, even a double pepperoni, made such a great breakfast.

Sitting down at his computer command center, he resumed work on his pet project. He’d been trying for months to design a climate-change computer game. How to make it interesting? After more failed attempts than he could count, he’d hit upon creating a superhero team, a team that would have to overcome the evil climate villain. His design of that villain was a bit too close to the early Apocalypse, who first appeared in X-Factor #5, back in 1986. Although Marvel had since changed him and made him more complex and ambiguous, he still might need to make changes. But for now, that could wait. His climate villain was seeking to destroy everyone. Humans didn’t deserve to live; they hadn’t solved climate change; they hadn’t evolved.

At the villain’s command, the sea would release giant tidal waves and cause massive coastal flooding. Point to a forest: either fire or instant death and desert. Scream at the sky: giant tornadoes and 200 pound hailstones flatten cities. The graphics he’d created for the hailstorms were deliciously gruesome. Terrified screams as people were hailstoned to death, panic everywhere. Due to their greed, they’d caused the climate problems, now they faced the consequences, seemingly helpless.

Creating the superhero team proved most troublesome. He had wanted to include characters with a wide sexual diversity, but Chaim felt the game was preachy enough as it was. Aware of Disney’s mounting losses, he didn’t want to go down that path. People were still too resistant just to climate change—especially those evil MAGA Republican dupes—let alone the other issues.

He spent the next couple hours working on the team’s design. A great idea: he’d make the team multi-racial, and even include a positive white male, though, of course, not as the lead. They’d have to work together to have any hope of defeating the villain and reversing climate change damage. How he wished for that sort of cooperation in real life.

Deep down, all the interracial strife and hatred bothered him. A couple of his ancestors had perished at Auschwitz. Why were more and more people denying the Shoah? His own family history proved its existence.

His stomach gurgled. He shouldn’t have wolfed down so much of that double pepperoni pizza. Too late now.

He took a quick shower—long showers wasted water—and went to bed. His stomach gurgled again. Sigh. Restful sleep might prove elusive.

To be continued…

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