Adrift. I sit here on my tiny little platform of ice, adrift in the water. The massive iceberg that I lived on is now gone, completely melted. I waddle over slowly to the edge of my island and dip a flipper into it tentatively. Hotter than it used to be. Hotter than I remember. I sigh sadly, looking out into the distance and endless blue. In just a few years, it was all gone.
I remember when I was a little penguin, there were lots of other penguins on our massive chunk of ice in Antarctica. Krill were abundant, and the ice stretched out on and on, towards infinity. But one day, I saw something… strange. There was a tiny little platform of ice, just floating. It looked like it had broken off the iceberg. It was slowly shrinking in size, too. Not from moving further away, though. No, it seemed to be… melting.
That was the first warning sign for our colony. As the years and seasons continued, the danger the shrinking ice imposed became more and more apparent. It started with the water feeling just a tiny bit warmer. I remember years ago, I was taking a swim with my friends, when I noticed it. I leaped into the water, expecting a rush of freezing cold. I did get that cold rush, but it was… different. Warmer.
“Hey guys! The water feels weird!” I shouted to my friends.
“You’re overreacting, Waddle!” My friend Pip shouted back. “It’s probably the same!”
“I’m telling you! Try it for yourself!”
Pip scoffed, before jumping in after me. When he resurfaced, his beak was open.
“You’re right. It feels hotter. We have to go tell the Elders!” He exclaimed.
We waddled over to them, talking about how the water feels warmer. They looked at us gravely, before testing the water for themselves. It was the first time I saw the Elders look genuinely worried.
Pip ended up ashore on the Brazilian coast years later. The thin ice he was on broke off, and he drifted up north, the platform he was on slowly shrinking, until he was carried off by the warm current. Rumors had it that he wasn’t healthy enough to be sent back by humans.
A couple years after the water started to become warmer, we came back from migration to a horrible sight. Our nesting grounds shrunk dramatically. The large expanse of ice had broken off, bit by bit, until it was just a fraction of its original size. It was a terrifying reality. It felt like if this continued, we wouldn’t be able to nest anymore, and our population would shrink.
This made us vulnerable. Birds snatched up some of our eggs, and the limited space meant we were competing with other animals, like seals and birds for food. The once abundant krill seemed to be fewer and further between as the days progressed. It was undeniable that something was seriously wrong.
A few days later, we awoke to a loud noise above us. It was a ship, carrying humans. We waddled over to them, curious as to what they were doing. We heard mutterings of “global warming” and “climate change”. They seemed to be as distressed as us over the thin ice.
Then, it started happening. The ice started melting, and platforms started to break apart, dooming penguins who were caught onto them to drift off endlessly, hoping they washed ashore before their platform vanished. The penguin population on the iceberg was rapidly decreasing, and there were only a few of us left.
And now, as one of the last penguins left, I am adrift, like the rest of the ones who were lost. It was a tough last few days, avoiding the quickly breaking ice, and eventually, I was caught. As the sun sets, I watch the iceberg I once called home fade into the distance. Maybe I’ll end up ashore somewhere, like Pip. Or maybe, the ice I’m on will melt, and I’ll be carried by the current. But in the end, I sit on my little platform, staring at the sun, wishing things were different.
