Originally, I had planned to attempt to write my own “Athabasca Story”. After weeks of brainstorming for an idea that stuck and that I felt would be a convincing native tale that pertained to climate change, I have decided to change the direction with which I intend to take my fiction project. As I began to write the outer context that I had planned to situate my native allegory, I found that the voice I had been narrating with flowed much more smoothly than it had when I sought to write with a style tht=at I am not very familiar with. The “native” parts that I began to write were neither convincing, nor effective in communicating the ancientness that I had been trying to portray. Instead, I have embarked on a short story that is still set in the future, but is also rooted in the not-too-distant future of the Alaskan landscape. I chose to set my story in this context so that I could encompass the melting of the glaciers that is presently occurring in that area. I feel that we haven’t held much discussion about this particular aspect of climate change, I hope to try my hand at creative climate change fiction in this capacity. The introduction that I have tentatively completed so far reads as follows:

“The yearbook reads: “The Alokee Tribe Graduating Class of 2180”. Kayla runs her hand over the leather cover of her new yearbook, as she reminisces on the times she had with her peers both in school, and in downtown Anchorage on the weekends. As she aimlessly wanders the vacated hallways of her high school, an old newspaper clipping in the trophy case catches her eye. The photograph under the headline obviously shows her beloved town of Anchorage, and yet the surrounding landscape seems to be completely wrong. From every angle, the photograph shows what seems to be immensely thick, purely white ice stretching all the way to the horizon, covering what are now fields of growing wheat. Utterly confused by such an unsettlingly beautiful terrain, Kayla gingerly opens the trophy case to get a better look at the clipping. Kayla glances over both of her shoulders before carefully unpinning the newspaper clipping to slip it into her back packet, vowing to research the vast sheets of ice that clearly used to dominate the Anchorage area.

Upon her arrival at home, Kayla can smell the warm aroma of cinnamon and vanilla, a telltale sign that Grandmother is baking her favorite dessert. She opens the front door to be greeted as usual by three excitable, perfectly groomed husky dogs, each with their own lively demeanor. After crouching down to greet her beloved friends, Kayla’s nose leads her to the kitchen where Grandmother has just set out a steaming plate of cookies. Kayla takes a seat at the counter, pulling the newspaper clip out of her pocket before sliding it across the counter before her guardian, and best friend. With a twinkle of recognition in her creased eyes, and a slight smile playing across her weathered lips, Grandmother seems to lose herself in a memory that she has not revisited for many years, a memory of gazing across the ice that has since abandoned the barren Alaskan landscape.”