Island Y

Island Y

Island Y

Island Y

Grounded SF from
the Netherlands
and Flanders
no. 4

Grounded SF from
the Netherlands
and Flanders
no. 4

Grounded SF from
the Netherlands
and Flanders
no. 4

AUTHOR

Anne Moraal

PITCH

As sea levels begin to rise and humankind panics, there is one man that can offer hope. Ken Butter knows the only place to be safe from the end of the world: Island Y.

PITCH

As sea levels begin to rise and humankind panics, there is one man that can offer hope. Ken Butter knows the only place to be safe from the end of the world: Island Y.

Grounded SF

 Translated by: Jai van Essen

Ken Butter certainly felt guilty. It hadn’t bothered him too much at first, though he found himself overcome with remorse more often lately. In a flash, he would see those eyes again, the way they hungrily hung on his every word for a bit of hope. He already knew it was no use by then, but they didn’t want to hear anything else.

Ken Butter certainly felt guilty. It hadn’t bothered him too much at first, though he found himself overcome with remorse more often lately. In a flash, he would see those eyes again, the way they hungrily hung on his every word for a bit of hope. He already knew it was no use by then, but they didn’t want to hear anything else.

Ken Butter certainly felt guilty. It hadn’t bothered him too much at first, though he found himself overcome with remorse more often lately. In a flash, he would see those eyes again, the way they hungrily hung on his every word for a bit of hope. He already knew it was no use by then, but they didn’t want to hear anything else.

Ken Butter certainly felt guilty. It hadn’t bothered him too much at first, though he found himself overcome with remorse more often lately. In a flash, he would see those eyes again, the way they hungrily hung on his every word for a bit of hope. He already knew it was no use by then, but they didn’t want to hear anything else.

Ken Butter certainly felt guilty. It hadn’t bothered him too much at first, though he found himself overcome with remorse more often lately. In a flash, he would see those eyes again, the way they hungrily hung on his every word for a bit of hope. He already knew it was no use by then, but they didn’t want to hear anything else.

Once, he’d been a man of facts. He’d taken measurements, drawn up charts. Together with his colleagues he’d tried to warn the world. They’d addressed world leaders, the business community. ‘We need to take action now,’ they’d said, after explaining the consequences of a global 3 degree rise in temperatures. ‘We’re headed for disaster. And sooner than you think.’ But others appeared less than impressed by the figures that had shocked Butter so much; the charts they presented failed to spark interest. The photos of starving polar bears were a sorry sight indeed, but hardly anyone had ever seen a polar bear in the wild. No one would know if one more or less was sauntering across the sheet. The storms, which had been more intense than any they’d ever experienced, were dismissed as a coincidence. Forest fires that had laid waste to entire villages were mainly seen as economic setbacks. ‘Climate change is nothing new,’ world leaders said. Businesses pledged improvements but would first need to look into how all these sustainable initiatives might fit into their annual budget.

Ken Butter was still a young scientist then, full of ideals and determined not to give up. He saw the potential of the people, the mobilised masses, even if they sometimes missed the mark with their good intentions, like with the initiatives to collectively purchase solar panels made of heavy metals mined in China; or the company canteens that quarrelled over a ‘Meatless Monday’, only to make the spicy chicken sandwich that week’s special; the people who took to the streets in the pouring rain for a climate march, who took selfies to flaunt on social media, but then lined up in traffic on their way home. People were definitely willing, Butter saw that, but they just needed someone to steer them in the right direction.

Once, he’d been a man of facts. He’d taken measurements, drawn up charts. Together with his colleagues he’d tried to warn the world. They’d addressed world leaders, the business community. ‘We need to take action now,’ they’d said, after explaining the consequences of a global 3 degree rise in temperatures. ‘We’re headed for disaster. And sooner than you think.’ But others appeared less than impressed by the figures that had shocked Butter so much; the charts they presented failed to spark interest. The photos of starving polar bears were a sorry sight indeed, but hardly anyone had ever seen a polar bear in the wild. No one would know if one more or less was sauntering across the sheet. The storms, which had been more intense than any they’d ever experienced, were dismissed as a coincidence. Forest fires that had laid waste to entire villages were mainly seen as economic setbacks. ‘Climate change is nothing new,’ world leaders said. Businesses pledged improvements but would first need to look into how all these sustainable initiatives might fit into their annual budget.

Ken Butter was still a young scientist then, full of ideals and determined not to give up. He saw the potential of the people, the mobilised masses, even if they sometimes missed the mark with their good intentions, like with the initiatives to collectively purchase solar panels made of heavy metals mined in China; or the company canteens that quarrelled over a ‘Meatless Monday’, only to make the spicy chicken sandwich that week’s special; the people who took to the streets in the pouring rain for a climate march, who took selfies to flaunt on social media, but then lined up in traffic on their way home. People were definitely willing, Butter saw that, but they just needed someone to steer them in the right direction.

Once, he’d been a man of facts. He’d taken measurements, drawn up charts. Together with his colleagues he’d tried to warn the world. They’d addressed world leaders, the business community. ‘We need to take action now,’ they’d said, after explaining the consequences of a global 3 degree rise in temperatures. ‘We’re headed for disaster. And sooner than you think.’ But others appeared less than impressed by the figures that had shocked Butter so much; the charts they presented failed to spark interest. The photos of starving polar bears were a sorry sight indeed, but hardly anyone had ever seen a polar bear in the wild. No one would know if one more or less was sauntering across the sheet. The storms, which had been more intense than any they’d ever experienced, were dismissed as a coincidence. Forest fires that had laid waste to entire villages were mainly seen as economic setbacks. ‘Climate change is nothing new,’ world leaders said. Businesses pledged improvements but would first need to look into how all these sustainable initiatives might fit into their annual budget.

Ken Butter was still a young scientist then, full of ideals and determined not to give up. He saw the potential of the people, the mobilised masses, even if they sometimes missed the mark with their good intentions, like with the initiatives to collectively purchase solar panels made of heavy metals mined in China; or the company canteens that quarrelled over a ‘Meatless Monday’, only to make the spicy chicken sandwich that week’s special; the people who took to the streets in the pouring rain for a climate march, who took selfies to flaunt on social media, but then lined up in traffic on their way home. People were definitely willing, Butter saw that, but they just needed someone to steer them in the right direction.

Once, he’d been a man of facts. He’d taken measurements, drawn up charts. Together with his colleagues he’d tried to warn the world. They’d addressed world leaders, the business community. ‘We need to take action now,’ they’d said, after explaining the consequences of a global 3 degree rise in temperatures. ‘We’re headed for disaster. And sooner than you think.’ But others appeared less than impressed by the figures that had shocked Butter so much; the charts they presented failed to spark interest. The photos of starving polar bears were a sorry sight indeed, but hardly anyone had ever seen a polar bear in the wild. No one would know if one more or less was sauntering across the sheet. The storms, which had been more intense than any they’d ever experienced, were dismissed as a coincidence. Forest fires that had laid waste to entire villages were mainly seen as economic setbacks. ‘Climate change is nothing new,’ world leaders said. Businesses pledged improvements but would first need to look into how all these sustainable initiatives might fit into their annual budget.

Ken Butter was still a young scientist then, full of ideals and determined not to give up. He saw the potential of the people, the mobilised masses, even if they sometimes missed the mark with their good intentions, like with the initiatives to collectively purchase solar panels made of heavy metals mined in China; or the company canteens that quarrelled over a ‘Meatless Monday’, only to make the spicy chicken sandwich that week’s special; the people who took to the streets in the pouring rain for a climate march, who took selfies to flaunt on social media, but then lined up in traffic on their way home. People were definitely willing, Butter saw that, but they just needed someone to steer them in the right direction.

Once, he’d been a man of facts. He’d taken measurements, drawn up charts. Together with his colleagues he’d tried to warn the world. They’d addressed world leaders, the business community. ‘We need to take action now,’ they’d said, after explaining the consequences of a global 3 degree rise in temperatures. ‘We’re headed for disaster. And sooner than you think.’ But others appeared less than impressed by the figures that had shocked Butter so much; the charts they presented failed to spark interest. The photos of starving polar bears were a sorry sight indeed, but hardly anyone had ever seen a polar bear in the wild. No one would know if one more or less was sauntering across the sheet. The storms, which had been more intense than any they’d ever experienced, were dismissed as a coincidence. Forest fires that had laid waste to entire villages were mainly seen as economic setbacks. ‘Climate change is nothing new,’ world leaders said. Businesses pledged improvements but would first need to look into how all these sustainable initiatives might fit into their annual budget.

Ken Butter was still a young scientist then, full of ideals and determined not to give up. He saw the potential of the people, the mobilised masses, even if they sometimes missed the mark with their good intentions, like with the initiatives to collectively purchase solar panels made of heavy metals mined in China; or the company canteens that quarrelled over a ‘Meatless Monday’, only to make the spicy chicken sandwich that week’s special; the people who took to the streets in the pouring rain for a climate march, who took selfies to flaunt on social media, but then lined up in traffic on their way home. People were definitely willing, Butter saw that, but they just needed someone to steer them in the right direction.

He saw the potential of the people, the mobilised masses, even if they sometimes missed the mark with their good intentions, like the people who took to the streets in the pouring rain for a climate march, who took selfies to flaunt on social media, but then lined up in traffic on their way home.

He saw the potential of the people, the mobilised masses, even if they sometimes missed the mark with their good intentions, like the people who took to the streets in the pouring rain for a climate march, who took selfies to flaunt on social media, but then lined up in traffic on their way home.

He saw the potential of the people, the mobilised masses, even if they sometimes missed the mark with their good intentions, like the people who took to the streets in the pouring rain for a climate march, who took selfies to flaunt on social media, but then lined up in traffic on their way home.

He saw the potential of the people, the mobilised masses, even if they sometimes missed the mark with their good intentions, like the people who took to the streets in the pouring rain for a climate march, who took selfies to flaunt on social media, but then lined up in traffic on their way home.

He saw the potential of the people, the mobilised masses, even if they sometimes missed the mark with their good intentions, like the people who took to the streets in the pouring rain for a climate march, who took selfies to flaunt on social media, but then lined up in traffic on their way home.

It started innocently enough. He recorded some videos at home and he posted them online. He explained what would happen if people continued to eat meat, or if the world kept relying on fossil fuels. Every so often he rounded up certain figures, for clarity’s sake. This would make it easier to understand for viewers. He ended each video with a tip for sustainable living: only flush the toilet once a day, for instance, or how to make vegetarian lasagne
with aubergine.

Tha-Coolest489 was the first to leave a comment.

Tha-Coolest489
Real men eat meat

MirandaxXx
You are so ugly, Ken Butter

Biohazard4bit
Your full of shit

Qubicfan
@Droggles Keep flushing, shit stain
Droggles
@Qubicfan Look who’s talking, retard
Qubicfan
@Droggles Yeah, look who
Droggles
@Qubicfan Yourself
Qubicfan
@Droggles Dipshit
Droggles
@Qubicfan Fucktard

Droezels1
Thanks for the lecture, professor #snoozefest

Tha-Coolest489
FAGGOT

It was obvious his message didn’t come across too well, but Ken Butter wouldn’t be stopped that easily. In the years that followed, he would round up his figures more and more, while increasingly relying on editing software to produce his videos. Melting glaciers were impressive enough in themselves but could be made just a touch more spectacular with huge waves and slowly drowning penguins. This approach appeared effective. With each new video, the number of views gradually increased. Then one day, after years of perseverance, he had his first major success with a video in which he claimed people were looking for ways to ski on dry ground in the Swiss Alps. The video went viral, and more would follow after. Vloggers made spin-off videos in which they tried out his tips; he was sent messages by teachers who used his channel as teaching material, and when he called for a boycott of mangos the supermarkets were left with a surplus of the tropical fruit. Ken was also asked to speak at events. The contact with a live audience proved most edifying, as it allowed him to discover in real time what made his listeners tick – and what didn’t.

It was only a matter of time before reality caught up with him. This happened eight years after his first video, when he posted a warning for rising sea levels and illustrated this by digitally flooding Aruba. It was so realistic as to briefly cause consternation in the Caribbean; the ensuing chaos even led the government to declare a state of emergency. A week later, a small island off the coast of Africa suddenly disappeared. The unnamed island had sunk into the sea overnight, and Ken Butter was the one who had foretold it. News media praised his prophetic vision. He was invited for interviews and had a long article written about him. The headline read: 'The Climate Messiah'.

Before long, Ken Butter was invited as the keynote speaker at a climate change convention. He took to the stage in a long purple coat, wearing a crown of pine branches on his head. Walking on, he was met with a standing ovation. Ken closed his eyes and raised his arms in the air, urging calm from the excited audience. When the applause died down and everyone had been seated, he began:

‘I warned you. But no one would listen, and now you see the result. We’ll lose the world if we go on like this.’

They were listening now. The Netherlands was the first nation he managed to persuade to implement a new system in which each person’s carbon footprint was registered. Those who exceeded established limits risked fines, exclusion from social security benefits, and even imprisonment. Eating meat was forbidden. A reproductive policy was adopted that allowed only certain highly educated citizens to have children. It surprised Ken Butter that he was asked no further questions about the level of education, as for a split second he’d worried he’d gone too far in proposing it. But by that time whole coastlines were already disappearing, and polar bears had officially gone extinct. For many, Ken Butter was their only hope. It wasn’t long before the whole of Europe adopted the ‘Butter model’.

His followers formed into various groups, calling themselves ‘Butterlings’. They stormed airports, threw household refuse at motorists, and only ate plants that grew in the wild. Ken Butter felt no sympathy for them. These were the same dumb beasts who’d refused to listen previously. Now that it was too late – Ken suspected it wouldn’t be long before the greater part of Europe was flooded – they swallowed all the nonsense he spewed hook, line, and sinker. During one of his visits to a so-called ‘Butter farm’, he witnessed bearded men frantically pulling clumps of grass from the ground and stuffing them in their mouths. Butter, once a devout vegetarian himself, was a regular on the black market, where he gorged himself on any piece of meat he could get his hands on. In the evening, the lights in his house ran on electricity from a diesel-powered generator. He’d darkened his windows. Now that it no longer made any difference, his lifestyle was more lavish than ever.

It started innocently enough. He recorded some videos at home and he posted them online. He explained what would happen if people continued to eat meat, or if the world kept relying on fossil fuels. Every so often he rounded up certain figures, for clarity’s sake. This would make it easier to understand for viewers. He ended each video with a tip for sustainable living: only flush the toilet once a day, for instance, or how to make vegetarian lasagne
with aubergine.

Tha-Coolest489 was the first to leave a comment.

Tha-Coolest489
Real men eat meat

MirandaxXx
You are so ugly, Ken Butter

Biohazard4bit
Your full of shit

Qubicfan
@Droggles Keep flushing, shit stain
Droggles
@Qubicfan Look who’s talking, retard
Qubicfan
@Droggles Yeah, look who
Droggles
@Qubicfan Yourself
Qubicfan
@Droggles Dipshit
Droggles
@Qubicfan Fucktard

Droezels1
Thanks for the lecture, professor #snoozefest

Tha-Coolest489
FAGGOT

It was obvious his message didn’t come across too well, but Ken Butter wouldn’t be stopped that easily. In the years that followed, he would round up his figures more and more, while increasingly relying on editing software to produce his videos. Melting glaciers were impressive enough in themselves but could be made just a touch more spectacular with huge waves and slowly drowning penguins. This approach appeared effective. With each new video, the number of views gradually increased. Then one day, after years of perseverance, he had his first major success with a video in which he claimed people were looking for ways to ski on dry ground in the Swiss Alps. The video went viral, and more would follow after. Vloggers made spin-off videos in which they tried out his tips; he was sent messages by teachers who used his channel as teaching material, and when he called for a boycott of mangos the supermarkets were left with a surplus of the tropical fruit. Ken was also asked to speak at events. The contact with a live audience proved most edifying, as it allowed him to discover in real time what made his listeners tick – and what didn’t.

It was only a matter of time before reality caught up with him. This happened eight years after his first video, when he posted a warning for rising sea levels and illustrated this by digitally flooding Aruba. It was so realistic as to briefly cause consternation in the Caribbean; the ensuing chaos even led the government to declare a state of emergency. A week later, a small island off the coast of Africa suddenly disappeared. The unnamed island had sunk into the sea overnight, and Ken Butter was the one who had foretold it. News media praised his prophetic vision. He was invited for interviews and had a long article written about him. The headline read: 'The Climate Messiah'.

Before long, Ken Butter was invited as the keynote speaker at a climate change convention. He took to the stage in a long purple coat, wearing a crown of pine branches on his head. Walking on, he was met with a standing ovation. Ken closed his eyes and raised his arms in the air, urging calm from the excited audience. When the applause died down and everyone had been seated, he began:

‘I warned you. But no one would listen, and now you see the result. We’ll lose the world if we go on like this.’

They were listening now. The Netherlands was the first nation he managed to persuade to implement a new system in which each person’s carbon footprint was registered. Those who exceeded established limits risked fines, exclusion from social security benefits, and even imprisonment. Eating meat was forbidden. A reproductive policy was adopted that allowed only certain highly educated citizens to have children. It surprised Ken Butter that he was asked no further questions about the level of education, as for a split second he’d worried he’d gone too far in proposing it. But by that time whole coastlines were already disappearing, and polar bears had officially gone extinct. For many, Ken Butter was their only hope. It wasn’t long before the whole of Europe adopted the ‘Butter model’.

His followers formed into various groups, calling themselves ‘Butterlings’. They stormed airports, threw household refuse at motorists, and only ate plants that grew in the wild. Ken Butter felt no sympathy for them. These were the same dumb beasts who’d refused to listen previously. Now that it was too late – Ken suspected it wouldn’t be long before the greater part of Europe was flooded – they swallowed all the nonsense he spewed hook, line, and sinker. During one of his visits to a so-called ‘Butter farm’, he witnessed bearded men frantically pulling clumps of grass from the ground and stuffing them in their mouths. Butter, once a devout vegetarian himself, was a regular on the black market, where he gorged himself on any piece of meat he could get his hands on. In the evening, the lights in his house ran on electricity from a diesel-powered generator. He’d darkened his windows. Now that it no longer made any difference, his lifestyle was more lavish than ever.

It started innocently enough. He recorded some videos at home and he posted them online. He explained what would happen if people continued to eat meat, or if the world kept relying on fossil fuels. Every so often he rounded up certain figures, for clarity’s sake. This would make it easier to understand for viewers. He ended each video with a tip for sustainable living: only flush the toilet once a day, for instance, or how to make vegetarian lasagne
with aubergine.

Tha-Coolest489 was the first to leave a comment.

Tha-Coolest489
Real men eat meat

MirandaxXx
You are so ugly, Ken Butter

Biohazard4bit
Your full of shit

Qubicfan
@Droggles Keep flushing, shit stain
Droggles
@Qubicfan Look who’s talking, retard
Qubicfan
@Droggles Yeah, look who
Droggles
@Qubicfan Yourself
Qubicfan
@Droggles Dipshit
Droggles
@Qubicfan Fucktard

Droezels1
Thanks for the lecture, professor #snoozefest

Tha-Coolest489
FAGGOT

It was obvious his message didn’t come across too well, but Ken Butter wouldn’t be stopped that easily. In the years that followed, he would round up his figures more and more, while increasingly relying on editing software to produce his videos. Melting glaciers were impressive enough in themselves but could be made just a touch more spectacular with huge waves and slowly drowning penguins. This approach appeared effective. With each new video, the number of views gradually increased. Then one day, after years of perseverance, he had his first major success with a video in which he claimed people were looking for ways to ski on dry ground in the Swiss Alps. The video went viral, and more would follow after. Vloggers made spin-off videos in which they tried out his tips; he was sent messages by teachers who used his channel as teaching material, and when he called for a boycott of mangos the supermarkets were left with a surplus of the tropical fruit. Ken was also asked to speak at events. The contact with a live audience proved most edifying, as it allowed him to discover in real time what made his listeners tick – and what didn’t.

It was only a matter of time before reality caught up with him. This happened eight years after his first video, when he posted a warning for rising sea levels and illustrated this by digitally flooding Aruba. It was so realistic as to briefly cause consternation in the Caribbean; the ensuing chaos even led the government to declare a state of emergency. A week later, a small island off the coast of Africa suddenly disappeared. The unnamed island had sunk into the sea overnight, and Ken Butter was the one who had foretold it. News media praised his prophetic vision. He was invited for interviews and had a long article written about him. The headline read: 'The Climate Messiah'.

Before long, Ken Butter was invited as the keynote speaker at a climate change convention. He took to the stage in a long purple coat, wearing a crown of pine branches on his head. Walking on, he was met with a standing ovation. Ken closed his eyes and raised his arms in the air, urging calm from the excited audience. When the applause died down and everyone had been seated, he began:

‘I warned you. But no one would listen, and now you see the result. We’ll lose the world if we go on like this.’

They were listening now. The Netherlands was the first nation he managed to persuade to implement a new system in which each person’s carbon footprint was registered. Those who exceeded established limits risked fines, exclusion from social security benefits, and even imprisonment. Eating meat was forbidden. A reproductive policy was adopted that allowed only certain highly educated citizens to have children. It surprised Ken Butter that he was asked no further questions about the level of education, as for a split second he’d worried he’d gone too far in proposing it. But by that time whole coastlines were already disappearing, and polar bears had officially gone extinct. For many, Ken Butter was their only hope. It wasn’t long before the whole of Europe adopted the ‘Butter model’.

His followers formed into various groups, calling themselves ‘Butterlings’. They stormed airports, threw household refuse at motorists, and only ate plants that grew in the wild. Ken Butter felt no sympathy for them. These were the same dumb beasts who’d refused to listen previously. Now that it was too late – Ken suspected it wouldn’t be long before the greater part of Europe was flooded – they swallowed all the nonsense he spewed hook, line, and sinker. During one of his visits to a so-called ‘Butter farm’, he witnessed bearded men frantically pulling clumps of grass from the ground and stuffing them in their mouths. Butter, once a devout vegetarian himself, was a regular on the black market, where he gorged himself on any piece of meat he could get his hands on. In the evening, the lights in his house ran on electricity from a diesel-powered generator. He’d darkened his windows. Now that it no longer made any difference, his lifestyle was more lavish than ever.

It started innocently enough. He recorded some videos at home and he posted them online. He explained what would happen if people continued to eat meat, or if the world kept relying on fossil fuels. Every so often he rounded up certain figures, for clarity’s sake. This would make it easier to understand for viewers. He ended each video with a tip for sustainable living: only flush the toilet once a day, for instance, or how to make vegetarian lasagne
with aubergine.

Tha-Coolest489 was the first to leave a comment.

Tha-Coolest489
Real men eat meat

MirandaxXx
You are so ugly, Ken Butter

Biohazard4bit
Your full of shit

Qubicfan
@Droggles Keep flushing, shit stain
Droggles
@Qubicfan Look who’s talking, retard
Qubicfan
@Droggles Yeah, look who
Droggles
@Qubicfan Yourself
Qubicfan
@Droggles Dipshit
Droggles
@Qubicfan Fucktard

Droezels1
Thanks for the lecture, professor #snoozefest

Tha-Coolest489
FAGGOT

It was obvious his message didn’t come across too well, but Ken Butter wouldn’t be stopped that easily. In the years that followed, he would round up his figures more and more, while increasingly relying on editing software to produce his videos. Melting glaciers were impressive enough in themselves but could be made just a touch more spectacular with huge waves and slowly drowning penguins. This approach appeared effective. With each new video, the number of views gradually increased. Then one day, after years of perseverance, he had his first major success with a video in which he claimed people were looking for ways to ski on dry ground in the Swiss Alps. The video went viral, and more would follow after. Vloggers made spin-off videos in which they tried out his tips; he was sent messages by teachers who used his channel as teaching material, and when he called for a boycott of mangos the supermarkets were left with a surplus of the tropical fruit. Ken was also asked to speak at events. The contact with a live audience proved most edifying, as it allowed him to discover in real time what made his listeners tick – and what didn’t.

It was only a matter of time before reality caught up with him. This happened eight years after his first video, when he posted a warning for rising sea levels and illustrated this by digitally flooding Aruba. It was so realistic as to briefly cause consternation in the Caribbean; the ensuing chaos even led the government to declare a state of emergency. A week later, a small island off the coast of Africa suddenly disappeared. The unnamed island had sunk into the sea overnight, and Ken Butter was the one who had foretold it. News media praised his prophetic vision. He was invited for interviews and had a long article written about him. The headline read: 'The Climate Messiah'.

Before long, Ken Butter was invited as the keynote speaker at a climate change convention. He took to the stage in a long purple coat, wearing a crown of pine branches on his head. Walking on, he was met with a standing ovation. Ken closed his eyes and raised his arms in the air, urging calm from the excited audience. When the applause died down and everyone had been seated, he began:

‘I warned you. But no one would listen, and now you see the result. We’ll lose the world if we go on like this.’

They were listening now. The Netherlands was the first nation he managed to persuade to implement a new system in which each person’s carbon footprint was registered. Those who exceeded established limits risked fines, exclusion from social security benefits, and even imprisonment. Eating meat was forbidden. A reproductive policy was adopted that allowed only certain highly educated citizens to have children. It surprised Ken Butter that he was asked no further questions about the level of education, as for a split second he’d worried he’d gone too far in proposing it. But by that time whole coastlines were already disappearing, and polar bears had officially gone extinct. For many, Ken Butter was their only hope. It wasn’t long before the whole of Europe adopted the ‘Butter model’.

His followers formed into various groups, calling themselves ‘Butterlings’. They stormed airports, threw household refuse at motorists, and only ate plants that grew in the wild. Ken Butter felt no sympathy for them. These were the same dumb beasts who’d refused to listen previously. Now that it was too late – Ken suspected it wouldn’t be long before the greater part of Europe was flooded – they swallowed all the nonsense he spewed hook, line, and sinker. During one of his visits to a so-called ‘Butter farm’, he witnessed bearded men frantically pulling clumps of grass from the ground and stuffing them in their mouths. Butter, once a devout vegetarian himself, was a regular on the black market, where he gorged himself on any piece of meat he could get his hands on. In the evening, the lights in his house ran on electricity from a diesel-powered generator. He’d darkened his windows. Now that it no longer made any difference, his lifestyle was more lavish than ever.

It started innocently enough. He recorded some videos at home and he posted them online. He explained what would happen if people continued to eat meat, or if the world kept relying on fossil fuels. Every so often he rounded up certain figures, for clarity’s sake. This would make it easier to understand for viewers. He ended each video with a tip for sustainable living: only flush the toilet once a day, for instance, or how to make vegetarian lasagne
with aubergine.

Tha-Coolest489 was the first to leave a comment.

Tha-Coolest489
Real men eat meat

MirandaxXx
You are so ugly, Ken Butter

Biohazard4bit
Your full of shit

Qubicfan
@Droggles Keep flushing, shit stain
Droggles
@Qubicfan Look who’s talking, retard
Qubicfan
@Droggles Yeah, look who
Droggles
@Qubicfan Yourself
Qubicfan
@Droggles Dipshit
Droggles
@Qubicfan Fucktard

Droezels1
Thanks for the lecture, professor #snoozefest

Tha-Coolest489
FAGGOT

It was obvious his message didn’t come across too well, but Ken Butter wouldn’t be stopped that easily. In the years that followed, he would round up his figures more and more, while increasingly relying on editing software to produce his videos. Melting glaciers were impressive enough in themselves but could be made just a touch more spectacular with huge waves and slowly drowning penguins. This approach appeared effective. With each new video, the number of views gradually increased. Then one day, after years of perseverance, he had his first major success with a video in which he claimed people were looking for ways to ski on dry ground in the Swiss Alps. The video went viral, and more would follow after. Vloggers made spin-off videos in which they tried out his tips; he was sent messages by teachers who used his channel as teaching material, and when he called for a boycott of mangos the supermarkets were left with a surplus of the tropical fruit. Ken was also asked to speak at events. The contact with a live audience proved most edifying, as it allowed him to discover in real time what made his listeners tick – and what didn’t.

It was only a matter of time before reality caught up with him. This happened eight years after his first video, when he posted a warning for rising sea levels and illustrated this by digitally flooding Aruba. It was so realistic as to briefly cause consternation in the Caribbean; the ensuing chaos even led the government to declare a state of emergency. A week later, a small island off the coast of Africa suddenly disappeared. The unnamed island had sunk into the sea overnight, and Ken Butter was the one who had foretold it. News media praised his prophetic vision. He was invited for interviews and had a long article written about him. The headline read: 'The Climate Messiah'.

Before long, Ken Butter was invited as the keynote speaker at a climate change convention. He took to the stage in a long purple coat, wearing a crown of pine branches on his head. Walking on, he was met with a standing ovation. Ken closed his eyes and raised his arms in the air, urging calm from the excited audience. When the applause died down and everyone had been seated, he began:

‘I warned you. But no one would listen, and now you see the result. We’ll lose the world if we go on like this.’

They were listening now. The Netherlands was the first nation he managed to persuade to implement a new system in which each person’s carbon footprint was registered. Those who exceeded established limits risked fines, exclusion from social security benefits, and even imprisonment. Eating meat was forbidden. A reproductive policy was adopted that allowed only certain highly educated citizens to have children. It surprised Ken Butter that he was asked no further questions about the level of education, as for a split second he’d worried he’d gone too far in proposing it. But by that time whole coastlines were already disappearing, and polar bears had officially gone extinct. For many, Ken Butter was their only hope. It wasn’t long before the whole of Europe adopted the ‘Butter model’.

His followers formed into various groups, calling themselves ‘Butterlings’. They stormed airports, threw household refuse at motorists, and only ate plants that grew in the wild. Ken Butter felt no sympathy for them. These were the same dumb beasts who’d refused to listen previously. Now that it was too late – Ken suspected it wouldn’t be long before the greater part of Europe was flooded – they swallowed all the nonsense he spewed hook, line, and sinker. During one of his visits to a so-called ‘Butter farm’, he witnessed bearded men frantically pulling clumps of grass from the ground and stuffing them in their mouths. Butter, once a devout vegetarian himself, was a regular on the black market, where he gorged himself on any piece of meat he could get his hands on. In the evening, the lights in his house ran on electricity from a diesel-powered generator. He’d darkened his windows. Now that it no longer made any difference, his lifestyle was more lavish than ever.

A week later, a small island off the coast of Africa suddenly disappeared. The unnamed island had sunk into the sea overnight, and Ken Butter was the one who had foretold it.

A week later, a small island off the coast of Africa suddenly disappeared. The unnamed island had sunk into the sea overnight, and Ken Butter was the one who had foretold it.

A week later, a small island off the coast of Africa suddenly disappeared. The unnamed island had sunk into the sea overnight, and Ken Butter was the one who had foretold it.

A week later, a small island off the coast of Africa suddenly disappeared. The unnamed island had sunk into the sea overnight, and Ken Butter was the one who had foretold it.

A week later, a small island off the coast of Africa suddenly disappeared. The unnamed island had sunk into the sea overnight, and Ken Butter was the one who had foretold it.

Indeed, it wasn’t long until the end of the world began. It started with the extinction of bees and the ensuing global famine. Even in Europe, Ken saw his Butterlings lose weight. The heatwave that followed went on for months, as drinking water supplies ran out.

‘It’s retribution for your centuries-long naivety,’ Ken Butter said. ‘But take heart, because the faithful will survive. After the flood, it will be our task to replenish the earth.’

‘Yes!’ the Butterlings cried. ‘Tell us the truth!’

So Ken Butter told them about island Y. It was an island situated between the United Kingdom and the European continent, and it was supposed to be the last safe haven. This island was their only chance of surviving the flood. Ken Butter assured his followers the island would not flood, and the Butterlings, who by then had grown into thousands, believed him. Consequently, they rounded up boats, stockpiled rations, and drew maps, on which Ken Butter marked the island’s location.

‘It won’t be an easy journey,’ Ken Butter said.

‘It might take us weeks.’

‘The sea is a dangerous place.’

‘It’s our only hope.’

 _____________

After months of drought, dark clouds suddenly gathered. Scientists said: ‘This is the end,’ and panic broke out. Governments had whole areas evacuated. North America, Greenland, and China were taking in European refugees. Africa, Southeast Asia, and South America were left to fend for themselves.

‘Even now, they’ve learned nothing,’ Ken Butter told his followers.

He pointed at the airplanes passing overhead, the billowing black smoke from the boats as they set off. The Butterlings laughed. They knew they were the only ones who would be truly safe on island Y.

_____________ 

The rain started and didn’t stop.

‘Prepare to leave,’ Ken Butter said. ‘The water is coming.’ 

The Butterlings saw the sea slowly approaching in the distance. By that point, they’d repurposed an abandoned apartment building as the Butter headquarters. The Butterlings had parked the boats on the lawn in front of the building. It was quite a sight to behold, hundreds of boats. There were old speedboats, plastic canoes, but mostly homemade wooden sloops. The rations were kept on the top floor of the building, where their leader also resided. Ken Butter yelled directions at them from his floor.

‘Do you have the maps? And the compasses? The rations are safe here. I’ll throw them down as soon as you’re all in boats and on the water. Then I’ll jump onto a boat myself as well.’

Ken Butter walked from window to window in order to answer everyone.

‘Twenty people on a boat is a bit tight, but on island Y you’ll have all the space you need.’

The Butterlings then watched him gaze into the distance. Hundreds of eyes looked up expectantly at their only hope for survival.

‘There’s the water already! Can you see it? Go on, get on board!’

The Butterlings packed up their last things in a hurry before getting in their boats one by one. They hoisted the boats up with pulleys so the water would flow underneath and they could land on the water, which otherwise might wash over them. The boats, top-heavy because of the Butterlings, swayed dangerously as they were slowly raised. They could see the water drawing near. What looked like calm water from a distance, like an ocean gently lapping the shore after low tide, turned out to be a swirling mass of water approaching rapidly. An enormous wave rose up in the distance.

‘Throw down the rations!’ the Butterlings cried.

‘I’m waiting until you’re in the water,’ Ken Butter yelled from his window on the top floor. ‘There’s the wave already! It should pass just beneath you. Prepare to lower the boats!’

A brief silence ensued. There was no perceptible wind, and for a moment it even seemed to have stopped raining. A gigantic mountain of water was coming towards the building, and for an instant it seemed as if the entire building would be washed over, but then the wave broke, and the water came roaring in underneath the boats. The Butterlings quickly lowered themselves down. One by one, the boats landed on the swirling water. Only no one had thought about tying the boats down, and the water swept them away from the building at once.

‘The rations!’ the Butterlings cried, as they tried to hold onto the violently rocking boats. Ken Butter didn’t answer. The water had swept the boats away so quickly that within mere seconds they were too far away to hear him. He remained at the window, waving regally, until they’d disappeared from sight.

‘Idiots,’ he mumbled, and made himself comfortable.

 _____________

The storm lasted for another three months. The rations were more than sufficient to see Ken Butter through this period. The top floor had everything he needed; he even had electricity, thanks to his generator and jerry cans of diesel. However, he knew it would run out eventually, and unlike the rest of the world, he’d taken precautions in time. He spent his days preparing for his departure. Years back already, he’d noticed a piece of land that, according to his calculations, would be least affected during the cataclysm. It was a remote place that didn’t have a name. In memory of his followers, he now christened it ‘Island Y’. He used a black marker to write the name on his laminated map. The coordinates of this island didn’t match those of his Butterlings’ Island Y. He held the map at a distance and looked at the small piece of land. For the first time, a feeling of guilt came over him. He wondered if some of them were still bobbing around at sea somewhere. Or maybe they’d managed to reach dry land anyway. But he knew better, and by that point he’d exhausted his reserves of false hope.

He was woken by the sun shining bright in his face. It had stopped raining at last. Ken Butter got up and looked outside. The water was calm. He took his time getting dressed and gathering his belongings. The boat was waiting for him. He only needed to lift it out and lay it in the water. He used a rope to tie it down to a windowsill. The image of boatloads of Butterlings, swept from sight in seconds, came flooding back. From the window, he stocked the boat with the last remaining food. Then he stepped on board, unfastened the rope, and pushed off from the wall of the apartment building. He gazed into the distance, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, and quickly checked his compass. He then sat down, pulled the oars, and slowly began to row.

Indeed, it wasn’t long until the end of the world began. It started with the extinction of bees and the ensuing global famine. Even in Europe, Ken saw his Butterlings lose weight. The heatwave that followed went on for months, as drinking water supplies ran out.

‘It’s retribution for your centuries-long naivety,’ Ken Butter said. ‘But take heart, because the faithful will survive. After the flood, it will be our task to replenish the earth.’

‘Yes!’ the Butterlings cried. ‘Tell us the truth!’

So Ken Butter told them about island Y. It was an island situated between the United Kingdom and the European continent, and it was supposed to be the last safe haven. This island was their only chance of surviving the flood. Ken Butter assured his followers the island would not flood, and the Butterlings, who by then had grown into thousands, believed him. Consequently, they rounded up boats, stockpiled rations, and drew maps, on which Ken Butter marked the island’s location.

‘It won’t be an easy journey,’ Ken Butter said.

‘It might take us weeks.’

‘The sea is a dangerous place.’

‘It’s our only hope.’

 _____________

After months of drought, dark clouds suddenly gathered. Scientists said: ‘This is the end,’ and panic broke out. Governments had whole areas evacuated. North America, Greenland, and China were taking in European refugees. Africa, Southeast Asia, and South America were left to fend for themselves.

‘Even now, they’ve learned nothing,’ Ken Butter told his followers.

He pointed at the airplanes passing overhead, the billowing black smoke from the boats as they set off. The Butterlings laughed. They knew they were the only ones who would be truly safe on island Y.

 _____________

The rain started and didn’t stop.

‘Prepare to leave,’ Ken Butter said. ‘The water is coming.’ 

The Butterlings saw the sea slowly approaching in the distance. By that point, they’d repurposed an abandoned apartment building as the Butter headquarters. The Butterlings had parked the boats on the lawn in front of the building. It was quite a sight to behold, hundreds of boats. There were old speedboats, plastic canoes, but mostly homemade wooden sloops. The rations were kept on the top floor of the building, where their leader also resided. Ken Butter yelled directions at them from his floor.

‘Do you have the maps? And the compasses? The rations are safe here. I’ll throw them down as soon as you’re all in boats and on the water. Then I’ll jump onto a boat myself as well.’

Ken Butter walked from window to window in order to answer everyone.

‘Twenty people on a boat is a bit tight, but on island Y you’ll have all the space you need.’

The Butterlings then watched him gaze into the distance. Hundreds of eyes looked up expectantly at their only hope for survival.

‘There’s the water already! Can you see it? Go on, get on board!’

The Butterlings packed up their last things in a hurry before getting in their boats one by one. They hoisted the boats up with pulleys so the water would flow underneath and they could land on the water, which otherwise might wash over them. The boats, top-heavy because of the Butterlings, swayed dangerously as they were slowly raised. They could see the water drawing near. What looked like calm water from a distance, like an ocean gently lapping the shore after low tide, turned out to be a swirling mass of water approaching rapidly. An enormous wave rose up in the distance.

‘Throw down the rations!’ the Butterlings cried.

‘I’m waiting until you’re in the water,’ Ken Butter yelled from his window on the top floor. ‘There’s the wave already! It should pass just beneath you. Prepare to lower the boats!’

A brief silence ensued. There was no perceptible wind, and for a moment it even seemed to have stopped raining. A gigantic mountain of water was coming towards the building, and for an instant it seemed as if the entire building would be washed over, but then the wave broke, and the water came roaring in underneath the boats. The Butterlings quickly lowered themselves down. One by one, the boats landed on the swirling water. Only no one had thought about tying the boats down, and the water swept them away from the building at once.

‘The rations!’ the Butterlings cried, as they tried to hold onto the violently rocking boats. Ken Butter didn’t answer. The water had swept the boats away so quickly that within mere seconds they were too far away to hear him. He remained at the window, waving regally, until they’d disappeared from sight.

‘Idiots,’ he mumbled, and made himself comfortable.

 _____________

The storm lasted for another three months. The rations were more than sufficient to see Ken Butter through this period. The top floor had everything he needed; he even had electricity, thanks to his generator and jerry cans of diesel. However, he knew it would run out eventually, and unlike the rest of the world, he’d taken precautions in time. He spent his days preparing for his departure. Years back already, he’d noticed a piece of land that, according to his calculations, would be least affected during the cataclysm. It was a remote place that didn’t have a name. In memory of his followers, he now christened it ‘Island Y’. He used a black marker to write the name on his laminated map. The coordinates of this island didn’t match those of his Butterlings’ Island Y. He held the map at a distance and looked at the small piece of land. For the first time, a feeling of guilt came over him. He wondered if some of them were still bobbing around at sea somewhere. Or maybe they’d managed to reach dry land anyway. But he knew better, and by that point he’d exhausted his reserves of false hope.

He was woken by the sun shining bright in his face. It had stopped raining at last. Ken Butter got up and looked outside. The water was calm. He took his time getting dressed and gathering his belongings. The boat was waiting for him. He only needed to lift it out and lay it in the water. He used a rope to tie it down to a windowsill. The image of boatloads of Butterlings, swept from sight in seconds, came flooding back. From the window, he stocked the boat with the last remaining food. Then he stepped on board, unfastened the rope, and pushed off from the wall of the apartment building. He gazed into the distance, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, and quickly checked his compass. He then sat down, pulled the oars, and slowly began to row.

Indeed, it wasn’t long until the end of the world began. It started with the extinction of bees and the ensuing global famine. Even in Europe, Ken saw his Butterlings lose weight. The heatwave that followed went on for months, as drinking water supplies ran out.

‘It’s retribution for your centuries-long naivety,’ Ken Butter said. ‘But take heart, because the faithful will survive. After the flood, it will be our task to replenish the earth.’

‘Yes!’ the Butterlings cried. ‘Tell us the truth!’

So Ken Butter told them about island Y. It was an island situated between the United Kingdom and the European continent, and it was supposed to be the last safe haven. This island was their only chance of surviving the flood. Ken Butter assured his followers the island would not flood, and the Butterlings, who by then had grown into thousands, believed him. Consequently, they rounded up boats, stockpiled rations, and drew maps, on which Ken Butter marked the island’s location.

‘It won’t be an easy journey,’ Ken Butter said.

‘It might take us weeks.’

‘The sea is a dangerous place.’

‘It’s our only hope.’

_____________ 

After months of drought, dark clouds suddenly gathered. Scientists said: ‘This is the end,’ and panic broke out. Governments had whole areas evacuated. North America, Greenland, and China were taking in European refugees. Africa, Southeast Asia, and South America were left to fend for themselves.

‘Even now, they’ve learned nothing,’ Ken Butter told his followers.

He pointed at the airplanes passing overhead, the billowing black smoke from the boats as they set off. The Butterlings laughed. They knew they were the only ones who would be truly safe on island Y.

 _____________

The rain started and didn’t stop.

‘Prepare to leave,’ Ken Butter said. ‘The water is coming.’ 

The Butterlings saw the sea slowly approaching in the distance. By that point, they’d repurposed an abandoned apartment building as the Butter headquarters. The Butterlings had parked the boats on the lawn in front of the building. It was quite a sight to behold, hundreds of boats. There were old speedboats, plastic canoes, but mostly homemade wooden sloops. The rations were kept on the top floor of the building, where their leader also resided. Ken Butter yelled directions at them from his floor.

‘Do you have the maps? And the compasses? The rations are safe here. I’ll throw them down as soon as you’re all in boats and on the water. Then I’ll jump onto a boat myself as well.’

Ken Butter walked from window to window in order to answer everyone.

‘Twenty people on a boat is a bit tight, but on island Y you’ll have all the space you need.’

The Butterlings then watched him gaze into the distance. Hundreds of eyes looked up expectantly at their only hope for survival.

‘There’s the water already! Can you see it? Go on, get on board!’

The Butterlings packed up their last things in a hurry before getting in their boats one by one. They hoisted the boats up with pulleys so the water would flow underneath and they could land on the water, which otherwise might wash over them. The boats, top-heavy because of the Butterlings, swayed dangerously as they were slowly raised. They could see the water drawing near. What looked like calm water from a distance, like an ocean gently lapping the shore after low tide, turned out to be a swirling mass of water approaching rapidly. An enormous wave rose up in the distance.

‘Throw down the rations!’ the Butterlings cried.

‘I’m waiting until you’re in the water,’ Ken Butter yelled from his window on the top floor. ‘There’s the wave already! It should pass just beneath you. Prepare to lower the boats!’

A brief silence ensued. There was no perceptible wind, and for a moment it even seemed to have stopped raining. A gigantic mountain of water was coming towards the building, and for an instant it seemed as if the entire building would be washed over, but then the wave broke, and the water came roaring in underneath the boats. The Butterlings quickly lowered themselves down. One by one, the boats landed on the swirling water. Only no one had thought about tying the boats down, and the water swept them away from the building at once.

‘The rations!’ the Butterlings cried, as they tried to hold onto the violently rocking boats. Ken Butter didn’t answer. The water had swept the boats away so quickly that within mere seconds they were too far away to hear him. He remained at the window, waving regally, until they’d disappeared from sight.

‘Idiots,’ he mumbled, and made himself comfortable.

 _____________

The storm lasted for another three months. The rations were more than sufficient to see Ken Butter through this period. The top floor had everything he needed; he even had electricity, thanks to his generator and jerry cans of diesel. However, he knew it would run out eventually, and unlike the rest of the world, he’d taken precautions in time. He spent his days preparing for his departure. Years back already, he’d noticed a piece of land that, according to his calculations, would be least affected during the cataclysm. It was a remote place that didn’t have a name. In memory of his followers, he now christened it ‘Island Y’. He used a black marker to write the name on his laminated map. The coordinates of this island didn’t match those of his Butterlings’ Island Y. He held the map at a distance and looked at the small piece of land. For the first time, a feeling of guilt came over him. He wondered if some of them were still bobbing around at sea somewhere. Or maybe they’d managed to reach dry land anyway. But he knew better, and by that point he’d exhausted his reserves of false hope.

He was woken by the sun shining bright in his face. It had stopped raining at last. Ken Butter got up and looked outside. The water was calm. He took his time getting dressed and gathering his belongings. The boat was waiting for him. He only needed to lift it out and lay it in the water. He used a rope to tie it down to a windowsill. The image of boatloads of Butterlings, swept from sight in seconds, came flooding back. From the window, he stocked the boat with the last remaining food. Then he stepped on board, unfastened the rope, and pushed off from the wall of the apartment building. He gazed into the distance, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, and quickly checked his compass. He then sat down, pulled the oars, and slowly began to row.

Indeed, it wasn’t long until the end of the world began. It started with the extinction of bees and the ensuing global famine. Even in Europe, Ken saw his Butterlings lose weight. The heatwave that followed went on for months, as drinking water supplies ran out.

‘It’s retribution for your centuries-long naivety,’ Ken Butter said. ‘But take heart, because the faithful will survive. After the flood, it will be our task to replenish the earth.’

‘Yes!’ the Butterlings cried. ‘Tell us the truth!’

So Ken Butter told them about island Y. It was an island situated between the United Kingdom and the European continent, and it was supposed to be the last safe haven. This island was their only chance of surviving the flood. Ken Butter assured his followers the island would not flood, and the Butterlings, who by then had grown into thousands, believed him. Consequently, they rounded up boats, stockpiled rations, and drew maps, on which Ken Butter marked the island’s location.

‘It won’t be an easy journey,’ Ken Butter said.

‘It might take us weeks.’

‘The sea is a dangerous place.’

‘It’s our only hope.’

 _____________

After months of drought, dark clouds suddenly gathered. Scientists said: ‘This is the end,’ and panic broke out. Governments had whole areas evacuated. North America, Greenland, and China were taking in European refugees. Africa, Southeast Asia, and South America were left to fend for themselves.

‘Even now, they’ve learned nothing,’ Ken Butter told his followers.

He pointed at the airplanes passing overhead, the billowing black smoke from the boats as they set off. The Butterlings laughed. They knew they were the only ones who would be truly safe on island Y.

 _____________

The rain started and didn’t stop.

‘Prepare to leave,’ Ken Butter said. ‘The water is coming.’ 

The Butterlings saw the sea slowly approaching in the distance. By that point, they’d repurposed an abandoned apartment building as the Butter headquarters. The Butterlings had parked the boats on the lawn in front of the building. It was quite a sight to behold, hundreds of boats. There were old speedboats, plastic canoes, but mostly homemade wooden sloops. The rations were kept on the top floor of the building, where their leader also resided. Ken Butter yelled directions at them from his floor.

‘Do you have the maps? And the compasses? The rations are safe here. I’ll throw them down as soon as you’re all in boats and on the water. Then I’ll jump onto a boat myself as well.’

Ken Butter walked from window to window in order to answer everyone.

‘Twenty people on a boat is a bit tight, but on island Y you’ll have all the space you need.’

The Butterlings then watched him gaze into the distance. Hundreds of eyes looked up expectantly at their only hope for survival.

‘There’s the water already! Can you see it? Go on, get on board!’

The Butterlings packed up their last things in a hurry before getting in their boats one by one. They hoisted the boats up with pulleys so the water would flow underneath and they could land on the water, which otherwise might wash over them. The boats, top-heavy because of the Butterlings, swayed dangerously as they were slowly raised. They could see the water drawing near. What looked like calm water from a distance, like an ocean gently lapping the shore after low tide, turned out to be a swirling mass of water approaching rapidly. An enormous wave rose up in the distance.

‘Throw down the rations!’ the Butterlings cried.

‘I’m waiting until you’re in the water,’ Ken Butter yelled from his window on the top floor. ‘There’s the wave already! It should pass just beneath you. Prepare to lower the boats!’

A brief silence ensued. There was no perceptible wind, and for a moment it even seemed to have stopped raining. A gigantic mountain of water was coming towards the building, and for an instant it seemed as if the entire building would be washed over, but then the wave broke, and the water came roaring in underneath the boats. The Butterlings quickly lowered themselves down. One by one, the boats landed on the swirling water. Only no one had thought about tying the boats down, and the water swept them away from the building at once.

‘The rations!’ the Butterlings cried, as they tried to hold onto the violently rocking boats. Ken Butter didn’t answer. The water had swept the boats away so quickly that within mere seconds they were too far away to hear him. He remained at the window, waving regally, until they’d disappeared from sight.

‘Idiots,’ he mumbled, and made himself comfortable.

 _____________

The storm lasted for another three months. The rations were more than sufficient to see Ken Butter through this period. The top floor had everything he needed; he even had electricity, thanks to his generator and jerry cans of diesel. However, he knew it would run out eventually, and unlike the rest of the world, he’d taken precautions in time. He spent his days preparing for his departure. Years back already, he’d noticed a piece of land that, according to his calculations, would be least affected during the cataclysm. It was a remote place that didn’t have a name. In memory of his followers, he now christened it ‘Island Y’. He used a black marker to write the name on his laminated map. The coordinates of this island didn’t match those of his Butterlings’ Island Y. He held the map at a distance and looked at the small piece of land. For the first time, a feeling of guilt came over him. He wondered if some of them were still bobbing around at sea somewhere. Or maybe they’d managed to reach dry land anyway. But he knew better, and by that point he’d exhausted his reserves of false hope.

He was woken by the sun shining bright in his face. It had stopped raining at last. Ken Butter got up and looked outside. The water was calm. He took his time getting dressed and gathering his belongings. The boat was waiting for him. He only needed to lift it out and lay it in the water. He used a rope to tie it down to a windowsill. The image of boatloads of Butterlings, swept from sight in seconds, came flooding back. From the window, he stocked the boat with the last remaining food. Then he stepped on board, unfastened the rope, and pushed off from the wall of the apartment building. He gazed into the distance, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, and quickly checked his compass. He then sat down, pulled the oars, and slowly began to row.

Indeed, it wasn’t long until the end of the world began. It started with the extinction of bees and the ensuing global famine. Even in Europe, Ken saw his Butterlings lose weight. The heatwave that followed went on for months, as drinking water supplies ran out.

‘It’s retribution for your centuries-long naivety,’ Ken Butter said. ‘But take heart, because the faithful will survive. After the flood, it will be our task to replenish the earth.’

‘Yes!’ the Butterlings cried. ‘Tell us the truth!’

So Ken Butter told them about island Y. It was an island situated between the United Kingdom and the European continent, and it was supposed to be the last safe haven. This island was their only chance of surviving the flood. Ken Butter assured his followers the island would not flood, and the Butterlings, who by then had grown into thousands, believed him. Consequently, they rounded up boats, stockpiled rations, and drew maps, on which Ken Butter marked the island’s location.

‘It won’t be an easy journey,’ Ken Butter said.

‘It might take us weeks.’

‘The sea is a dangerous place.’

‘It’s our only hope.’

 _____________

After months of drought, dark clouds suddenly gathered. Scientists said: ‘This is the end,’ and panic broke out. Governments had whole areas evacuated. North America, Greenland, and China were taking in European refugees. Africa, Southeast Asia, and South America were left to fend for themselves.

‘Even now, they’ve learned nothing,’ Ken Butter told his followers.

He pointed at the airplanes passing overhead, the billowing black smoke from the boats as they set off. The Butterlings laughed. They knew they were the only ones who would be truly safe on island Y.

 _____________

The rain started and didn’t stop.

‘Prepare to leave,’ Ken Butter said. ‘The water is coming.’ 

The Butterlings saw the sea slowly approaching in the distance. By that point, they’d repurposed an abandoned apartment building as the Butter headquarters. The Butterlings had parked the boats on the lawn in front of the building. It was quite a sight to behold, hundreds of boats. There were old speedboats, plastic canoes, but mostly homemade wooden sloops. The rations were kept on the top floor of the building, where their leader also resided. Ken Butter yelled directions at them from his floor.

‘Do you have the maps? And the compasses? The rations are safe here. I’ll throw them down as soon as you’re all in boats and on the water. Then I’ll jump onto a boat myself as well.’

Ken Butter walked from window to window in order to answer everyone.

‘Twenty people on a boat is a bit tight, but on island Y you’ll have all the space you need.’

The Butterlings then watched him gaze into the distance. Hundreds of eyes looked up expectantly at their only hope for survival.

‘There’s the water already! Can you see it? Go on, get on board!’

The Butterlings packed up their last things in a hurry before getting in their boats one by one. They hoisted the boats up with pulleys so the water would flow underneath and they could land on the water, which otherwise might wash over them. The boats, top-heavy because of the Butterlings, swayed dangerously as they were slowly raised. They could see the water drawing near. What looked like calm water from a distance, like an ocean gently lapping the shore after low tide, turned out to be a swirling mass of water approaching rapidly. An enormous wave rose up in the distance.

‘Throw down the rations!’ the Butterlings cried.

‘I’m waiting until you’re in the water,’ Ken Butter yelled from his window on the top floor. ‘There’s the wave already! It should pass just beneath you. Prepare to lower the boats!’

A brief silence ensued. There was no perceptible wind, and for a moment it even seemed to have stopped raining. A gigantic mountain of water was coming towards the building, and for an instant it seemed as if the entire building would be washed over, but then the wave broke, and the water came roaring in underneath the boats. The Butterlings quickly lowered themselves down. One by one, the boats landed on the swirling water. Only no one had thought about tying the boats down, and the water swept them away from the building at once.

‘The rations!’ the Butterlings cried, as they tried to hold onto the violently rocking boats. Ken Butter didn’t answer. The water had swept the boats away so quickly that within mere seconds they were too far away to hear him. He remained at the window, waving regally, until they’d disappeared from sight.

‘Idiots,’ he mumbled, and made himself comfortable.

 _____________

The storm lasted for another three months. The rations were more than sufficient to see Ken Butter through this period. The top floor had everything he needed; he even had electricity, thanks to his generator and jerry cans of diesel. However, he knew it would run out eventually, and unlike the rest of the world, he’d taken precautions in time. He spent his days preparing for his departure. Years back already, he’d noticed a piece of land that, according to his calculations, would be least affected during the cataclysm. It was a remote place that didn’t have a name. In memory of his followers, he now christened it ‘Island Y’. He used a black marker to write the name on his laminated map. The coordinates of this island didn’t match those of his Butterlings’ Island Y. He held the map at a distance and looked at the small piece of land. For the first time, a feeling of guilt came over him. He wondered if some of them were still bobbing around at sea somewhere. Or maybe they’d managed to reach dry land anyway. But he knew better, and by that point he’d exhausted his reserves of false hope.

He was woken by the sun shining bright in his face. It had stopped raining at last. Ken Butter got up and looked outside. The water was calm. He took his time getting dressed and gathering his belongings. The boat was waiting for him. He only needed to lift it out and lay it in the water. He used a rope to tie it down to a windowsill. The image of boatloads of Butterlings, swept from sight in seconds, came flooding back. From the window, he stocked the boat with the last remaining food. Then he stepped on board, unfastened the rope, and pushed off from the wall of the apartment building. He gazed into the distance, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, and quickly checked his compass. He then sat down, pulled the oars, and slowly began to row.

AnneMoraal © Jan Willem Kaldenbach

ANNE MORAAL

Anne Moraal (1987) is the editor-in-chief of a radio show called Nooit Meer Slapen (Beyond Sleep). She was the only non-English student of her class at the New York University Creative Writing Summer School 2013, where she was taught by authors such as Chad Harbach and Lydia Davis. Moraal’s debut novel, Dogs Don’t Cry, was published this spring and received much critical acclaim.

Photo: Jan Willem Kaldenbach

 

This literary magazine for Grounded SF from
the Netherlands and Flanders is published twice
a year by Lebowski Publishers.
© Lebowski Publishers  |  Amsterdam

For international rights please contact:
Oscar van GelderenTracy Fisher, Jill Gillett or Sylvie Rabineau

This literary magazine for Grounded SF from
the Netherlands and Flanders is published twice
a year by Lebowski Publishers.

© Lebowski Publishers  |  Amsterdam


For international rights please contact:
Oscar van GelderenTracy Fisher , Jill Gillet
or Sylvie Rabineau

This literary magazine for Grounded SF from the Netherlands and Flanders is published twice a year by Lebowski Publishers.

© Lebowski Publishers  |  Amsterdam



For international rights please contact: Oscar van GelderenTracy Fisher, Jill Gillet or Sylvie Rabineau

© 2019 Simone Atangana Bekono, Hanna Bervoets, Willem Bosch, Joost Devriesere, Rob van Essen, Jerry Goossens, Gina Hay, Bertram Koeleman, Roderick Leeuwenhart, Erik Nieuwenhuis, PJ Pancras, Joost Vandecasteele 

© TRANSLATIONS Anne Chadwick Wendrich, Jai van Essen,
Paul Evans, Antoinette Fawcett, Kristen Gehrman, Suzanne Jansen, Thijs van Nimwegen, Jonathan Reeder, Sarah Welling, Joni Zwart

© 2019 Simone Atangana Bekono, Hanna Bervoets, Willem Bosch, Joost Devriesere, Rob van Essen, Jerry Goossens, Gina Hay, Bertram Koeleman, Roderick Leeuwenhart, Erik Nieuwenhuis, PJ Pancras, Joost Vandecasteele

© TRANSLATIONS Anne Chadwick Wendrich, Jai van Essen, Paul Evans, Antoinette Fawcett, Kristen Gehrman, Suzanne Jansen, Thijs van Nimwegen, Jonathan Reeder, Sarah Welling, Joni Zwart

© 2019 Simone Atangana Bekono, Hanna Bervoets, Willem Bosch, Joost Devriesere, Rob van Essen, Jerry Goossens, Gina Hay, Bertram Koeleman, Roderick Leeuwenhart, Erik Nieuwenhuis, PJ Pancras, Joost Vandecasteele

© TRANSLATIONS Anne Chadwick Wendrich, Jai van Essen, Paul Evans, Antoinette Fawcett, Kristen Gehrman, Suzanne Jansen, Thijs van Nimwegen, Jonathan Reeder, Sarah Welling, Joni Zwart

© 2018 Simone Atangana Bekono, Hanna Bervoets, Willem Bosch, Joost Devriesere, Rob van Essen,
Jerry Goossens, Gina Hay, Bertram Koeleman, Roderick Leeuwenhart, Erik Nieuwenhuis, PJ Pancras,
Joost Vandecasteele


© TRANSLATIONS Anne Chadwick Wendrich, Jai van Essen, Paul Evans, Antoinette Fawcett,
Kristen Gehrman, Suzanne Jansen, Thijs van Nimwegen, Jonathan Reeder, Sarah Welling, Joni Zwart

© 2018 Simone Atangana Bekono, Hanna Bervoets, Willem Bosch, Joost Devriesere, Rob van Essen, Jerry Goossens, Gina Hay, Bertram Koeleman, Roderick Leeuwenhart, Erik Nieuwenhuis, PJ Pancras, Joost Vandecasteele

© TRANSLATIONS Anne Chadwick Wendrich,
Jai van Essen, Paul Evans, Antoinette Fawcett, Kristen Gehrman, Suzanne Jansen, Thijs van Nimwegen, Jonathan Reeder, Sarah Welling, Joni Zwart

EDITORS Oscar van Gelderen, 
Jasper Henderson, Maaike Pleging

DESIGN 
Bart Heideman  |  uncanny.design

EDITORS Oscar van Gelderen, 
Jasper Henderson, Maaike Pleging

DESIGN
 
Bart Heideman  |  uncanny.design

EDITORS 
Oscar van Gelderen, 
Jasper Henderson, 
Maaike Pleging

DESIGN 
Bart Heideman | uncanny.design

EDITORS 
Oscar van Gelderen, Jasper Henderson, Maaike Pleging

DESIGN 
Bart Heideman  |  uncanny.design

EDITORS 
Oscar van Gelderen, Jasper Henderson, Maaike Pleging

DESIGN 
Bart Heideman  |  uncanny.design