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Veritas est Libertas – Chapter 3

Being a Psychologist we suck at telling stories and we are probably the worst storytellers out there. My colleagues are renowned for paying attention to other people’s life stories, not in telling them. I ought to ask you about your sex life, family relationships, childhood experiences, professional success and dreams. As we don’t know each other, the safest route to instigate this peculiar correspondence from the future remains the dull question concerning the weather.

It must be a great deal cooler than our sweltering 25th of May of the year 2087. As the scorching sun continued its tropical mission, yesterday London scored 42 degrees Celsius, the highest temperature ever recorded for this time of year! Health authorities issued severe warnings, urging Londoners to remain indoors. Due to substantial health risks posed, public health officials closed all public schools until further notice. To avert permanent ridges, asphalted roads with softer graded bitumen, will also be closed until further notice. London reconstructed almost sixty percent of its primary routes with a new heat-resistant tarmac. Luckily, the high temperature doesn’t affect our reliable underground transport system, provided that the Thames’ water doesn’t penetrate the flood barriers and the water pumps don’t break down.

An increasing number of Londoners want to embrace the Mediterraneans’ decision and change the office working hours into cooler periods of the day. In a referendum held four years ago, the Mediterraneans who did not migrate northwards decided to switch their official working hours from 9:00 am to 4:00 pm to 09:00 pm to 04:00 am. They exchanged their biological clocks, whereby their day begins at sunset and ends at sunrise. They spend the best part of their day sleeping, waking up for breakfast at eight o’clock in the evening. Their children nowadays attend school, squinting under the moonlight, from 10:00 pm to 02:00 am.

My sister, Jane is exceedingly distressed regarding the prospect of her three children, leading a vampire lifestyle. She wants her family of five to migrate to Siberia, one of the few places on the planet that still provide bearable temperature ranges during the blistering months of the year. Based on the current migration trend, experts estimate that by the end of the next century, half of the world’s population will call the northern hemisphere their home. My uncle Stephen has already moved to Siberia. He is a structural engineer, and busy supervising the construction of a vast number of new residential projects. Given that my architect sister, Jane, has been unemployed for almost two years, Stephen is trying to get her to join him and move over to Mirny, the metropolitan city in Siberia. However, her husband, Paul, refuses to leave London, which yesterday celebrated the 10th Anniversary of the Coronation of our King.

Unlike the 300,000 Londoners who yesterday assembled on the green plains of Hyde Park to listen to live music, I stayed at home. Jade’s favourite band, Hotplay, performed in Hyde Park last year. Overly excited about the prospect of seeing her musical heartthrobs in the flesh, she persevered on me joining her. Since the organisers pledged to install colossal water sprinklers to cool down the crowd, I joined Jade and attended the gig. However, due to my autoimmune disorder, I struggled to collect sufficient amounts of oxygen, which ruined our evening, and we left as soon as Hotplay concluded their live performance.

This year, Jade had to report live on the London festivities marking the King’s Coronation anniversary, liberating me from the tormenting Hyde Park heat. Jade is a TV-reporter, working for the public broadcasting service.

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