CW Room

Date: December 31, 2025 

Dear Anna, 

I am writing this letter to you from the future. Happy new year! This was one of your more difficult years. You’ve spent most of your time working, neglecting your health and building your wealth. You made it to the top of the career ladder and you deserved every achievement you got. 

As I am you, I know how much you hate your job. Digital Marketing has always been a means to an end for you, and I know you’ve just about had it with that nonsense. That’s why I’m writing to you today. I’m you, and I want what’s best for you.

It’s the end of 2025, the year that will come to be everyone’s Hell on earth. It’s time for you to stop wasting your time. Follow your passions, explore the world and fight for your beliefs. Too late can happen at any moment – time doesn’t offer up any hints. 

The best kept secret of the universe is the relativity of time. Without this knowledge, you will always feel like you have as much time as possible. In exactly the same way, but in a completely opposite direction, it’s also why the first day of Hell was the longest day we have or will ever live. 

I tell you about our longest day and our year in Hell to urge you to reconsider your priorities and follow your heart. There is nothing you will ever enjoy more than your passion – What you believe in.

When 2025 started, I dreaded going back to work. I had one motivation, and that is to save up more money for my future projects.

It didn’t work out, of course, because when I woke up on that fateful July morning, prepared my coffee and sat opposite my laptop, I had no way of knowing the world would never be the same again. 

The day began when I sipped my coffee at my desk while editing one of my freelance Augmented Reality designs. My eyes blurred and I noticed the light coming from the window to my right had changed. It was a minute before I had processed my view. 

As you know, on any average day, our street was in a quaint, quiet neighbourhood filled with 2 story houses. The neighbours were peaceful elderly couples or young, new families living in wholesome harmony and handing out cheerful greetings as they passed one another on the road.

They were the types of people who clearly worked hard on their front yards. Colourful flowers, trimmed hedges and clean walkways were the pride and joy of our little friendly community. This street was a beautiful sight to behold, and one of the reasons you decided to move here. 

That day, as I watched the scene unfold just outside my window, I strained to keep my eyes glued to my head as nebulas of dust fluttered around cars and houses. Wind picked up a lone tricycle left on the driveway where the neighbour’s kid, Amar, had been learning to balance just yesterday. 

Unable to keep my eyes on the sky, I glimpsed the red sun before a plume of smoke closer to the ground caught my eye. Tracing the waft to its origins, I found a leaf had caught fire and had begun infecting the rest of the bush. 

I couldn’t help but wonder whether this was how wildfires started. I’d seen videos on the internet before where people fled wildfire-heavy areas. The air was humid with smoke and the sky was flaming orange. 

Yet, my neighbourhood has never been at risk of wildfires and London has never been dry long enough to risk catching any flames. Just as I began to think of a reason, an internet headline jumped to my frontal lobe where I had read that solar winds could sweep through locations on earth and disable internet access, gas and electricity. 

As fast as the thought came, I was at my computer checking for a signal. I picked up my phone, tablet, smart watch and even my television remote before I decided that this was not going to work out. In fact, the power seemed to be out completely. 

Sirens began to ring throughout the streets, signalling an emergency. My stomach fluttered with nervous energy, which only rioted further when the sirens cut out abruptly, taking away any electric buzzing and humming that accompanied any subconscious mind living in the 21st century. 

Eerie silence took over, broken only by the howling, steaming winds blowing against the houses outside. Car tires were melting, and smoke rose from the cars as they collapsed onto the street.

As I was alone, unable to contact my family, neighbours or friends. I couldn’t leave, call anyone or fix the weather. I was completely helpless, so I decided the only decent plan of action was to take my mind off of this mess. Of course, I had no internet or working television, but I did have a library full of books at my disposal. 

I picked up the first book I saw – The Count of Monte Cristo – and began immersing myself in a life far away from this one. Willing the howling to disappear and the peace to commence, I read for as long as it took to lose track of time, and then some. 

My concentration was only broken by a distant crack in the routine of noise outdoors. Immediately, with a third of my book left, I flipped it over and placed it face down to the ground, bookmarking the page I had paused in. 

Night had fallen, my eyes had adjusted to the dark and the howling had dwindled. I made for the familiar location of candles in my kitchen, lit one and took it to the window to observe the changes. 

The dark was a consuming monster, ready to swallow the pavement whole along with anything that dared initiate contact. The street was dead – unmoving. No roses, plants, not even the trees had survived. My friendly neighbourhood had become a desolate, dry nothing. Houses stood, visibly singed and covered in ash. Windows had been coated in suet and colourful yards were replaced with sandy, blackened debris from burned shrubs and melted, flying bins. 

Anna, if you’ve ever wondered what your first thought would be in an apocalypse like this, just know that before thinking of anyone’s wellbeing, or the repercussions on your own life, your first thought was “Man, that’s going to make it harder for santa to get through the chimney.” You don’t even celebrate christmas. 

As I glanced around, taking the horrific scene in, my eyes were caught by a spec of light across the road, illuminating a scorched doorway that sat wide open. The candle was held up by an elderly woman and her adult daughter, which immediately allowed me to let out a sigh of relief knowing they were okay. 

I was yet unsure whether the outdoors were safe, despite nightfall, I decided a wave would be the most appropriate greeting under the circumstances. The scene was so apocalyptic, I’m not sure I was ready to test my limits before I could process it. 

I did, however, want to make sure my neighbours were okay, so I continued my signed conversation across the street, with one layer of glass and many metres between us. I pointed my index finger at them and raised my thumb, tilting my eyebrows quizzically and hoping they understood my vague miming as acceptable sign language. 

Samira and Alana looked at one another and then faced back in my direction. Their eyes lit up with concern before Alana said something to her daughter and began walking. 

Alana, possessing courage that I could never have myself, began taking steps away from her front porch and towards mine.

I panicked. Of course I did. This brave elderly woman was walking across the street in the middle of the Fallout sequel of 2025 to check on me just because I lived alone. I was appreciative and stressed all at once. 

I ran towards the front door and pulled it open. The air was smoking, burning as it whistled by gently, unaware of the searing molecules within. In fact, it was so hot as the breeze caressed my face, that the tip of my nose began burning cold. That’s not a good sign. 

My eyes found Alana, watching her make two smaller, less confident steps before she froze in her tracks. Her eyes found mine as she processed her predicament. At that moment, Alana was exposed to the unknown elements, unprotected and completely unsafe. 

For a moment, Alana was glued in place, unmoving and unresponsive before her legs began to shake. Unable to support her weight, she fell to her knees and her bare hands found her face. Alana cried in pain, a gargle of pure, unadulterated shock sweeping through her and emanating out into the hollow night. 

This was one of the hardest experiences to watch. An elderly woman, meaning only too well, was burning in the middle of the street because she came out to check on me. 

I tore my eyes away from Alana to find Samira planted in her spot in the doorway, horror and terror clear on her face. As difficult as it is to see the woman you take some of your morning runs with look so broken and helpless, it’s harder to allow this reaction to continue when an elderly grandmother is being tortured on the ground outside. 

“SAMIRA,” I yelled at the top of my lungs, hoping to burrow into her subconscious and break her out of her trance. “FUCKING DRAG HER BACK HOME.” 

Samira seemed to move autonomously, her fight or flight instinct kicking in – fight winning by a long shot. Alana was dragged back indoors and the scorched door was slammed desperately. 

I stole a glance up the street before I forced myself to slam my own door shut too. At least one window at every house had been illuminated by candles. The whole street will have seen this, and will have learned what we just did the hard way. We had to stay indoors.

It was three months before the winds slowed down, and the calming breezes returned. I spent my days reading, writing and rationing food. I learned how to keep a fire going indoors, do a handstand without any help from the wall, and my eyes learned to read books in the moonlight.

I had no access to any internet or communication methods for 3 months. I used my AR tools to place myself in a beach video I had downloaded, but had exactly 1 hour of use out of that before this coping method died out too. 

I learned just how much I had been relying on technology in my day-to-day life and thought about the people who have no access to these resources. Was the news aware of our condition, were they reporting our plight, or did they censor it to avoid a panic?

My candles had finished in the first month. I lived my nights in the dark and my days in a slow, wireless dawdle. I read 72 books and none of them really let me out of my predicament as I had hoped, and sometimes imagined, they did. 

I began having conversations with myself to keep my voice alive and discussed topics in detail with made-up groups of people that I had no access to. On the first day of the fourth month, in the middle of a heated conversation whilst I was using my lighter for my indoor bonfire, a loud knock sounded at my door. 

This man in a hazmat suit explained to me that I was one victim of the solar winds caused by climate change. Anna, It was not just our street, but the whole city. 

Over two million people were targeted by this disaster. Alana survived, but countless elders, adults and even children lost their lives. The city was buried in rubble and sand. Many buildings didn’t make it, we were one of the lucky ones. 

This natural disaster was caused by climate change, which as you know, is not natural at all. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it was man-made, like many other disasters and injustices around the world – if you know what I mean. What all man-made disasters have in common is the devastating loss they cause all of humanity.

Of course, to top it all off, survivors were subjected to radiation too high to allow us to survive much longer. The man gave us until the end of the year and instructed us to remain home, where we would be delivered rations of food and drink until the end of the year. They didn’t expect us to last much longer. 

We were no different from anyone else, really. Survivors of disasters carry side effects with them for the rest of their lives. Cancer survivors carry physical and mental trauma. Survivors of war end up with injuries and PTSD. For the months I had left, I was decaying on the inside. 

We’re the same as everyone else, Anna. We are not special. Those who suffer man-made injustices will never be able to walk through life the same way again. Much like people in other parts of the world, I was denied freedom and time. There were times where deliveries of food were delayed and I was starved for days. 

Anna, I don’t write to you now to explain to you the cruelty of the experience you will be living, but to take advantage of it. Learn from your future as you learn from your past. Fight for your beliefs, spread as much awareness about climate change, injustice and cruelty as you can. 

There will always be people who care less. If we do nothing, we are just as complicit as they are. Injustice will prevail if we stay put. We can’t focus on just ourselves when the lives of our people are at risk. 

Whether it be climate disasters or any other type of injustice you see in the world, you must stand for what’s right, as you’ve always done. I write this to you from the end of our life to urge you to get to it before it’s too late. 

I will be gone in a few hours, so I can only hope you’ve done better than I will. At the end, write a letter and send it back to yourself after you’re gone. We will succeed if we keep pushing, because too late is coming and it always arrives. 

I’m too tired to write anymore, so that’s all. I leave my past, your future in your hands. Don’t fuck it up. 

All the best, 

Anna